The Talon's Sting
by TheWabbajackX
Summary: Driven by a mutual desire to destroy Overwatch, Widowmaker and Reaper take orders from their benefactor Talon to sew chaos and destruction wherever they go. Aloof at first, they slowly develop a respect, friendship, and then something deeper. Meanwhile, the Overwatch team digs deep into the mystery of Talon and their past. (WidowReaper. Rated M for language, smut.)
1. Making a Widow

The stale white lights of the science facility hummed lowly. Their colorlessness added to an already sterile and cold atmosphere, complementing the white walls, floors, and labcoats worn by the doctors. A man in a black business suit walked down the corridor, starkly contrasting with the rest of the environment. To his right was a doctor sporting long wavy locks of hair that descended to his shoulders. It was a faded brown and looked like it was rigorously taken care of. A feature of pride for this young man. Glasses framed his face, a black to contrast the brown. His labcoat flowed behind him with each step he took. The man in the suit droned on about their mutual "investors", but the doctor only payed half attention. He was far more focused on showing off their new "agent."

"She'll be ready to send back?" the suit asked. The doctor smirked and peered over at the man.

"She's far from the deadly assassin we have planned," he said. "But everyone starts somewhere. She's learned much from her husband, but we've taken it upon ourselves to instill some basic gun knowledge into her psyche."

"Any physical abnormalities?" The doctor stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head.

"We've left her physically untouched. The psychological modifications were much more difficult to pull off this way, but we couldn't risk cutting open the skull and leaving some scar or indent for Overwatch to latch on to. But make no mistake: she's primed and ready."

"How can you be so sure?" the suit asked. The doctor let out an amused huff of air through his nose.

"You always have to beta test the latest program before it's released for public use," he said, a tone of snark in his voice. "Or at least you used to. Nowadays, they'll just shit out any hack program, no matter how buggy or broken it is."

"This is much more different than a computer program, Doctor," the suit insisted. The doctor smirked, shut his eyes, shook his head, and merely patted the man on his shoulder.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he said. "That's why I'm the scientist, and you're the rep. But the real testing and modification won't come in until after the mission is complete."

"How extensive will these modifications be?" the suit inquired.

"Very," was all that consisted of the doctor's answer. The two entered a hollow chamber, the doors shutting behind them. A laser wall washed over them, and steam erupted from mechanical vents in the wall.

"Decontamination in progress," the computerized voice stated. The suit checked and patted his outfit with notable concern.

"Don't worry," the doctor said. "It'll be fine."

"Decontamination complete." The doors slid open, and the two entered a laboratory. This room was grey and more dimly lit than the hallways. A group of scientist stood by terminals, awaiting further instruction. The doctor and the suit stood before a large pod in the center of the room. The glass was fogged, obscuring the contents within.

"Ready?" the doctor asked. The suit nodded. One of the doctors standing to their side pressed a button, and steam began to hiss out of the seals. The door lifted with a whir, mist wafting up from the opening. As it cleared, its contents were revealed. A pale skinned woman was laying inside. Her body was covered by the clothes she wore before they had taken her, clean pressed and looking fresh off the rack. Slowly, her eyelids opened, and the world around her came into focus. She squinted as the bright lights beamed down on her. The woman rose from the pod and climbed out, standing before them. The suit peered at her, unsure of what he was supposed to be looking at. The woman stood expressionless before them, her eyes lacking any sort of spark of life or thought to them.

"Well?" the suit asked.

"Report," the doctor said. The woman stood at attention.

"Amélie Lacroix," she replied, a soft French accent detected in her words. "Codename: Widowmaker. Reporting, sir. Ready to comply." The suit looked over to the doctor, who smiled with intense satisfaction.

"Widowmaker?"

"Think about it." There was a silence for several seconds before the suit came to the realization. "Now you get it. What is your mission, Widowmaker?"

"Infiltrate Overwatch. Operate undercover for two weeks. Eliminate Gérard Lacroix. Return to base."

"Two weeks?" the suit asked. "That seems a bit long."

"It's an assassination mission," the doctor said. "They'll be watching her closely. She can't operate out in the open. Not yet, anyway. Only when they let her guard down can Widowmaker effectively strike."

"Hmm…" the suit rubbed his bottom lip with his hand in contemplation. "Is this the most effective method of eliminating Lacroix?"

"Would you rather I sew an explosive into her stomach and detonate it?" the doctor asked flatly. "Talon needs field agents equivalent to Overwatch's "heroes." She's the first. Unless you have a steady supply of extraordinarily gifted individuals and a lot of disposable income at your fingertips."

"Fair enough," the suit said. The doctor looked to the scientists and jerked his head in Amélie's direction. Two of them walked to her side, resting their hands on her for support.

"Latrodectus Hesperus," the doctor said. Immediately, Amélie's eyes shut, and she slumped into their arms. The two scientists lifted her up by her arms and legs, resting her on an operating table.

"Latro-what?" the suit asked.

"Her trigger words. These are a code phrase that activates her deep sleep protocol. She will awaken in a few hours, completely unaware of all that transpired here."

"How will she know when to carry out the mission?"

"Her psychological clock has been adjusted to reactivate her dormant psyche after the window has passed. Then, the deed will be done."

"And if she fails?" The doctor limply shrugged, having not even considered the idea of failure. His plan was bulletproof in his eyes.

"Then we deal a blow against Lacroix emotionally," he responded. "And we always have our backup agent."

"How will you convince him to join?" the suit asked. The doctor placed an arm around him and smirked.

"You're in communications," he said. "You should know that you gotta work all the angles with these sorts of things."

"Very well." The suit slipped out from under his arm. "Will she be ready to go soon?"

"She's ready to go now."

"Excellent." The doctor pressed a button on his watch, and two black armored soldiers entered the room. They lifted the woman up and followed the suit. "Talon thanks you for your cooperation." The doctor nodded, and the door closed behind them. He sighed and strode over to the pod, resting his hand on the glass.

"Two weeks…" he said. He tapped the glass anxiously, chewing at the bits for the chance to further experiment with the Widowmaker. To change her into the ultimate assassin and usher forth the fall of Overwatch.

* * *

Gérard rushed through the center of the shanty town where he had received the call. The rest of his team sprinted to catch up with him.

"Gérard, slow down!" The Frenchman turned to see his superior officer standing there, a man wearing blue riot gear, a trenchcoat, and a visor mounted on his right eye. Blond hair sat neatly trimmed upon his head. The rest of their unit arrived behind them.

"Commander Morrison, with all due respect, I can't slow down," Gérard said. "My wife is here in zis town!"

"It could be a trap," he said. "Talon could've set this all up."

"Hence why we should hurry! My wife could be in ze crossfire if this is a setup!"

"Gérard, just listen to Jack for a moment." A woman walked to Jack's side. She wore the same armor as Jack, minus the visor. A blue beret rested atop her black hair. Her skin was dark, and a tattoo of the Eye of Horus rested under her left eye. She gripped the specially modified sniper rifle in her hands. "He might be correct."

"Ana, please," Jack said. "I can handle this-"

"I have no time for zis!" Gérard shouted. "I must find my wife!" Without another word, he ran down the dusty streets, looking in all the buildings and calling her name.

"Dammit," Jack growled. "Something's off here. Ana, I want you on the roof, watching our backs."

"Understood," she said and quickly scaled the side of a wooden store. Jack gripped his rifle and sprinted after Gérard, the rest of his team following in his wake. The trail of footprints in the dust wound through the town, stopping outside a bar. The three entered and saw Gérard cradling a frail woman, his rifle on the ground.

"Ma chérie," he breathed quietly as the two held each other. His voice was so quiet. "When Talon took you, I feared ze worst. I would never stop hunting them if harm came to you. But you are here. But how?"

"Gérard," Jack said. "Step aside." Gérard rose to his feet and stared him down.

"Sacré bleu!" he hissed. "My wife has been stolen from me for many a month, and you try to break our reunion?"

"I don't like this," Jack said. "Something isn't right."

"Mister Morrison," Amélie said, rising to her feet as well. "If you worry about my husband's safety, I can assure you that I would do nothing to endanger his life or his colleagues. You must believe me!" Jack pressed two fingers to the earpiece attached to his visor.

"Ana?"

"Nothing to be found," she replied. "No suspicious activity or armed persons anyway." Jack craned his neck and popped it.

"How did you get here, ma'am?" he asked. Amélie opened her mouth to respond, but her mind went blank. She sat back down, rubbing her temples.

"I…. I don't know," she admitted. She had been gone for months and yet felt no sort of fear or concern for the time gone. All she felt was relief to be in her husband's arms again. Jack shook his head.

"This isn't right," he said.

"Let me take a look," a feminine voice said. A woman with long blonde hair done up in a ponytail made her way past Jack. She wore an angelic looking suit complete with wings and a halo-esque fixture on her head. The suit was white with gold trim. She withdrew the long staff from its place on her back and scanned Amélie. The French woman was enveloped in a golden light. The angelic woman examined the readout on her staff. "Physically, she is fine. No sort of modifications done to her."

"You're sure, Angela?" Jack asked. She nodded.

"Talon hadn't touched her," Angela said. "Strange…"

"Thank you, Angela," Gérard said, scooping his wife up in his arms and hugging her closely. "My love, do not pay attention to zhem. I know you would never jeopardize us or seek harm on us."

"Never!" she hissed. "I would rather die than aid Talon in zheir schemes. Had something I done led to your downfall, I could never forgive myself!" Jack sighed and decided to table this discussion until they returned to HQ. Angela placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You should relax, Jack," she said. "This is a day of celebration. True loves are reunited."

"Hmm…" he said. Jack turned around and stepped outside, seeing his other teammate leaning against the wall. He was a dark skinned man with a goatee and a black beanie on his head. He wore dark grey fatigues with black boots and plating along the legs. "You think something up too, don't you?"

"Hmm," the man responded. "No memory of what happened, and she just up and appears out of the blue? Fishy."

"You don't have to tell me, Reyes," Jack said. "I don't like any of this. We're in the dark about something."

"Perhaps we ought to take her out," Reyes growled. Jack slapped his shoulder with the back of his hand.

"What, are you crazy?" Jack exclaimed. "We're not gonna kill her! She's one of ours! We're not gonna tear each other apart!"

"What do you propose?" Reyes growled, glancing at Jack from the corners of his eyes. The strike commander rubbed his forehead, feeling a migraine set in from all this frustration and uncertainty. His least favorite thing was being kept in the dark.

"We'll…. we'll watch her. Have her escorted under armed guard. For safety."

"Her safety or others'?"

"Both."

"Gérard's not gonna like this."

"He'll be the main one looking after her."

"Hmm. Clever."

* * *

Gérard sat on a stool as his wife sat in the examination bed, scanners plugged onto her head. Brainwaves were showing up on a virtual graph along with a showcase of her brain's layout.

"You're going to be okay," Gérard whispered, holding his wife's hand gingerly. Too afraid to let go out of fear that she might disappear right before his very eyes. Angela held a tablet, examining the results she was getting. Jack was in the office with her, the both of them watching Gérard and Amélie from behind the glass.

"Physically, she is completely fine," Angela said, her eyes fixated on the tablet. "Her brain tells a different story." Jack looked over her shoulder at the tablet's contents. The brain showed a spot with muted colors over the part that housed memory while the rest of her brain was more vibrant. "This should have more activity and be brighter."

"Tampering?"

"Please, Jack," Angela said. "We may live in a world where intelligent machines exist, but neural manipulation and removal of memories by the hand of science are mere fiction."

"Who's to say?" Jack said. "Maybe Talon's stepped their game up."

"Had this technology existed, we would've been the first to develop it," Angela said, feeling a blow to her pride at the suggestion of such an idea. "We are the forefront of modern technology."

"What do you think?" Jack asked, leaning back and folding his arms.

"Repressed memory," she stated. "The stress of being separated from her husband and being at the mercy of Talon no doubt took its toll on her. In order to cope, she forced them deep into her psyche."

"Can we get her to remember?"

"Perhaps, but it'll take weeks of therapy. Maybe even months or years." Jack let out a deep sigh. He rested an arm against the glass and leaned his head on it. Nothing she said seemed to be of any comfort to him. All of it didn't settle with him, and having no answers made it worse. His thoughts retreated inward, analyzing every possibility with his signature military prowess, when his attention shifted to the feeling of a soft hand on his shoulder. "We should be happy, Jack. She's back. And safe. Talon can't get her here."

No one could have known what Amélie had been subjected to. No one could have known they were playing into Talon's hands. No one could have known Gérard would meet his end two weeks after his beloved's return. No one could have known the dormant assassin would awake on the very first second of midnight, the hairbrush dropping from her hand and clattering onto the floor. No one could have known the gun she shot him with while he slept in the comfort of his own soft bed would be the very one he had strapped to his thigh in the field. No one could have known the guards that escorted the two of them from their base to their quarters would signal for her exit. No one could have known the same guards would be found dead immediately afterwards, killed by the same gun she used on Gérard. No one could have known that Amélie was alive and had betrayed her husband and all their friends instead of being believed to be kidnapped once again.

No one could have known. Save for one scientist with faded brown hair and glasses, smirking over the report while no one was looking inside the lab where Angela had commenced with the psychiatric evaluation.


	2. Fox in the Henhouse

Amélie sat on the edge of the tub, a towel wrapped around her. The brush ran through her hair, just now dried. She smiled contently to herself, rising to her feet and approaching the mirror. Her hair was coming along nicely, all straight and smooth. The woman peaked out from inside the bathroom to look at her husband. Gérard sat in the bed like a statue, dead tired. He had surprised her by intruding while she was in the shower, gingerly placing a strong hand on her smooth thigh. It worked its way up, and the kisses he planted on her collarbone only cemented her resolve to give him what he wanted. What they both wanted.

 _Four minutes._

She blinked, frowning at the unwarranted self-interruption that had placated her inner musings.

As he slept between the sheets, a devious thought came to her head. Perhaps she should discard the towel and pounce upon him, a continuation of their romp in the shower. The past two weeks, they had made love almost constantly in their spare time. Gérard confided in her one night, of his desire to retire and settle down in France with her. To bare two children. Perhaps open a bakery with all the money his service to his country and Overwatch had earned him.

 _Three minutes._

Amélie let out an annoyed huff. For the past two days, she had been subconsciously counting down the days. To what, she couldn't recall. It wasn't their anniversary or Gérard's birthday. Or some important day in French history. All she knew is that they became more constant as the week went on. She confided in Angela Ziegler, but the good doctor could not find any abnormalities in her psyche. Amélie sighed and pushed the mental anomaly out of her head, just instead wanting to fantasize and reflect over her husband.

 _Two minutes._

Her disappearance had shaken him to his very core, and the last thing he wished was to lose her again. The Omnic Crisis and the fight against Talon had not shaken their love for one another, but they had little time to share. Gérard took her kidnapping as a sign that he needed to get serious. A ring wasn't enough. However, Amélie wasn't quite sure of her answer. On one hand, it was everything she ever dreamed of. Settling down, raising the children with him, and ending every day with fresh bread the two of them had prepared together. He would knead the dough with his strong hands, and she would lather on the cinnamon, icing, butter, honey, or whatever else tickled their fancy. She would wipe the smudges off their little boy's face. Yet, all of this came with a tremendous sense of guilt.

 _One minute._

Gérard had been invaluable in the fight against Talon. He was a revered figure for both France and Overwatch. It seemed like a dishonor to rip him away from all that. Words could not even begin to describe the feeling of pride that swelled through her when she would tell people her husband was a member of Overwatch. Her husband, the hero. They needed him. But so did she. Overwatch had resulted in many difficult life choices the two of them had to make. Either decision would be a hard one, but she knew that no matter what, she would always be there for him. To love and cherish him, and he for her. A yawn escaped her soft lips. The clock almost read midnight. Amélie was not used to being up this late. But she would not be awake for long. Soon, she would don her nightgown and climb into bed next to Gérard, holding him tightly. Her hands running over his muscular form, as though it was sculpted from clay on account of all the rigorous physical training he put himself through. For Overwatch. For France. For her.

The brush clattered onto the marble floor, her arm limply falling to her side. She stared into her reflection in the mirror but saw nothing. The world around her was blurry, no definite shape or structure. Her pupils had shrunk, her eyes lifeless without spark reflecting the state of her mind. Slowly, they began to grow. A dullness settled over her consciousness, the space around her eyes numb. Inch by inch, she turned her head to look at her target, still sound asleep in bed and completely oblivious to what had just happened to her. Silent as the night, Amélie strode over to the bedside, standing over him. Her target slumbered peacefully. The dresser drawer slid open without a sound revealing a pistol inside. She reached down and held it in her hand. Her fingers wrapped around the grip firmly. He had taught her many times since her return how to handle a firearm in the event of Talon's return. Little did he know that Talon had beaten him to the punch. Smoke hissed from the barrel. The bullet pierced through his skull, killing him instantly. His body jerked once and then moved no more. Blood painted the carved wooden headboard and the wall behind it.

Two guards burst through, rifles in hand. Amélie stood over Gérard's body, looking at them with no expression whatsoever. The guards lowered their rifles, one of them pressing a button on his helmet and communicating with someone. Amélie picked up the comm device sitting on the dresser, inputting a code. Gérard's comm device had been rigged in the aftermath of Amélie's return to filter out any attempt to listen in. Talon's kidnapping had made him paranoid in his final days, desperate to keep his darling wife safe.

"Report, agent," a male voice said over the comm.

"Lacroix is terminated," Amélie said. "Ze mission is complete."

"Excellent!" the voice said eagerly. "Have the guards arrived yet?"

"Only the two outside ze door," she said. "Zey are radioing for my escape."

"Good work, Widowmaker. Now, I have a few more things I need you to do…" She nodded as his orders came in and placed the comm on the dresser.

"We're on our way," one of the guards said over the radio. Talon had their agents' radios modified with a private connection to their SO. Since the radios' designs were standard military issue, it was easy to swap the faceplating. The guard stuck his head out the door. No activity to be seen. "Coast is clear. Let's g-" He never finished his sentence as the bullet shot through the back and out from his forehead. The other guard had only a second to process his fellow man's death before a bullet ran through his ear and out the other side of his head.

It would've been far too suspicious if she disappeared with two able bodied guards outside, she thought, repeating the doctor's orders to herself. So the two were written off as acceptable losses. Collateral damage. A specialty of Talon's.

Withdrawing a marker from the drawer, she drew the Talon emblem on the wall over Gérard's body. In an act of independence, she also drew a tiny spider beside it. She dropped her towel and wiped down the grip, removing her fingerprints. Still cradling it in the towel, she placed the gun on the dresser beside Gérard. Mockingly, the gun was laid down with the barrel pointing at his head. Shouting was audible down the hall, as armed guards came to investigate the commotion. The comm channel was smashed against the wall, shattering it to pieces. Amélie slinked out through the door and darted through the shadows to meet at the evac point. For a woman in the nude, she had managed to complete evade detection from anyone. The guards smuggled her onboard, and the pilot faked a story about detecting a disturbance out beyond the base. When the ship had flown out of range, she was placed onto an unmarked transport vessel. But not before the guards that escorted her were gunned down.

The official story was that Talon assassins had infiltrated the base, killed Gérard in his sleep, and kidnapped Amélie once more. The dead bodyguards stationed to watch their room and at the rendezvous point out beyond the base only strengthened the story. It wouldn't be until years later that anyone within Overwatch would find out the real story.

* * *

The doctor stood in front of the terminals in his laboratory as they read out the brain activity. Amélie had been returned to them only three hours ago, and they wasted no time in reformatting her into the Widowmaker. A door hissed open, and the man in the black suit from before approached and shook his hand.

"Pleasure to see you again," the doctor said.

"Our bosses heard about what happened," he said. "Needless to say, they're impressed." The doctor let out an amused huff of air from his nostrils and then a small chuckle.

"Of course they were," he bragged. "They've never had a success like this." He removed his glasses and began polishing them with a cloth. "The official story has begun making its rounds, I assume?"

"Overwatch intel reports that Lacroix was killed in his room, and that Talon assassins were behind it and the kidnapping of his wife." The story had had a few days to circulate through Overwatch, and Talon had to be extra careful in transporting Amélie. The doctor was severely impatient with the delays but knew better than to speed things along and risk jeopardizing their cover. But once she had arrived through the doors, he wasted no time in his experiments. "What's going on here?" The suit pointed to an x-ray of her head, which showed several thin rods piercing the skull and brain.

"Now that she's ours, we can begin with extensive neural modification," the doctor said. "Applying electrical shocks to orifices of the brain will repress her personality and make her more complacent to Talon orders."

"I thought she was already complacent." The doctor let out a small laugh and placed his arm over her shoulder.

"It's not a one-time thing," he said. "The psyche is like a physical part of the body. It has the capacity to heal and repair itself, metaphorically speaking. In order to keep her in check, we'll need to perform routine neural therapy. Otherwise, Amélie will come back. And we don't want that."

"So you're stamping out her personality completely," the suit said. "Why not just sever some parts of the brain if you want to make her mindless?" The doctor shook his head, waving a hand at him.

"Not mindless. We need her to be capable of independent thought so that she may carry out her missions effectively. We don't need an assassin that requires us to hold her hand. Enough cognitive functionality that she may operate freely on her own but suppressed enough that she will obey orders without question and will not be hung up on morality."

"Ahh. I see."

"Think of it as acting in a movie," the doctor continued. "Reading your lines is fine and good, but improvisation is even better. You can act even without a script or even a writer, for that matter."

"Poetic," the suit said, a twinge of admiration in his voice.

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg," the doctor said. He pointed to a percentage displayed on the screen. A tank was hooked up to Amélie, with some sort of liquid flowing in.

"What is that?" the suit asked.

"A specially modified chemical. It will slow her heart down to faint levels but will modify the interior temperature and structure of her organs so that they will survive the lower heart activity. This will make her undetectable on heartbeat sensors. She'll need to absorb this when she undergoes her routine therapy."

"So even we won't be able to detect her? Isn't that a bit problematic for us?"

"She's under our control. If you're worried about her going rogue, I can assure you that your fears are unfounded. Besides, double blind studies in the field are always fun."

"Double what?" The doctor waved his hand dismissively.

"Sometimes, I forget you're not a scientist." The suit merely frowned. The two of them looked back to Amélie, quiet and still as she lied on the examination table. The suit took notice of her being bound to the table with mechanical cuffs despite being unconscious.

"What's with the cuffs?" he asked.

"To restrain her if she acts up during therapy," the doctor said.

"Acts up?" the suit repeated. "Like she struggles?"

"Correct. You see, sometimes, the therapy can be…. painful. Some sessions will require her to be fully awake, the brain racing with consciousness as we perform. Other times, we can perform with her under. The neural technology is still in its infant stage, you see. It requires specific parameters at times."

"You don't give her anesthetic?" the suit asked. The doctor frowned on him and put his hands on his hips.

"You getting soft on me?" he asked.

"Of course not," the suit said indignantly. "I'm just asking in case she goes into shock. If she dies, your experiments here are done."

"We've taken great strides to secure her safety as well as our own," the doctor said. "The painful sessions are where we need to overhaul entire sections of the brain. Think of it as a patch to a video game. Sometimes, it's as long and strenuous as an entire UI overhaul or revamping a control style. And sometimes, it's just fixing little bugs and hiccups." The suit remained unconvinced.

"But this is a person," he said. "Not some American developed video game. People are more complex in what they can handle."

"Not as different as you'd think," the doctor said. "I've studied engineering, psychology, and medicine. The longer you work in either field, the more similar they start to be."

"Wow," the suit said, genuinely impressed despite his flat tone. "Impressive."

"Of course it is," the doctor said with a smirk. "How do you think I got into both Overwatch AND Talon?" He chortled to himself. "The Widowmaker won't die on my account. We've got measures in place to keep her physical form safe. Plus, the pain builds character."

"Builds character?" The doctor gave him a flat but annoyed expression.

"Are you insistant on repeating my words every other sentence?" he asked.

"Well, like you said. I'm not the scientist," the suit said flatly. "How does pain build character?"

"Constant exposure to pain on the subject's part numbs the body's sense of feeling as well as crushes any sense of hope or desire within their psyche."

"Why not just surgically remove the part of the brain that feels?" the suit asked. "No pain, no problems. Gunshot wound won't deter them."

"Because we need them to be physically aware of their environment," the doctor said. "If they get shot but can't feel it, they could push their body past its limits and then die from exposure and stress. The therapy sessions make them more resilient to pain, but it is not intended to ever deaden them to feeling the world around them."

"Mmm hmm," the suit said, not entirely grasping the concept but conceded with his answers. His uncertainty would've skyrocketed had he seen the session earlier. An hour ago, Amélie was writhing in place and screaming as the neural receptors poked and prodded her brain. Her skull itched and felt like fire as her nerve endings were shocked. It felt like an eternity before they put her under for the softer stuff. "And it also puts them in their place?"

"You see these types of situations all the time in broken homes with abusive partners or family members," the doctor said. "Their behavior and method of functioning changes in order to cope with and outright avoid exposure to pain." The suit couldn't help but squirm in place at the doctor's words.

"You seem to know a lot about this," he said tentatively.

"In the psychology field, you saw it a lot," the doctor confessed. "It was never pretty."

"And here you are."

"This time, it's different," the doctor insisted. "This is for the greater good."

"Greater good?" the suit asked. He had worked with Talon for some time now, and all he could see was another mercenary corporation in for themselves. "What greater good?" The doctor laughed.

"Oh, you don't know," he said, patting the suit on his cheek. "In time, you'll see." He wrapped his arm around him. "Now, let's grab lunch. I'll buy." While he had many other questions, the suit was not one to argue with a free lunch. The room was empty with their departure, only security cameras keeping watch over everything.

Slowly, Amélie Lucroix was being replaced little by little, her personality and original self-fading away into the background noise of history. Even her name would fade away, replaced with her artificial identity. The identity of a Talon spy, an assassin that would strike fear into the heart of man and machine alike. The identity of a ruthless killer that gained a sick thrill out of eliminating her targets, albeit for a little while.

The identity of the Widowmaker.


	3. Loaded Dice

Gérard's death and Amélie's disappearance had brought Overwatch's morale down. Strike Commander Morrison had doubled down on patrols throughout the base, with armed guards at every corner. Patrols were to rotate every hour, on the hour. Morrison was greatly displeased at the prospect of Talon having infiltrated their base, assassinated his men, and kidnapped a civilian. He had confided to his inner circle of Ana, Gabriel, Angela, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn. Morrison suspected a security leak or, at worst, a traitor. Ana remained hidden throughout the day, spying on the men for suspicious activity. Yet, in the weeks following the Talon infiltration, all of their investigations turned up cold. No men had any information, their alibis were solid, and those that could have helped them had been transported out in body bags long ago. Both Gabriel and Jack were frustrated with their lack of results, with the former suggesting they begin interrogating people. A notion that shocked and appalled his fellow Overwatch members. The two men got into a heated debate, with Gabriel criticizing Jack's tactics and lack of results. Jack pulled rank on his friend and dismissed him from further meetings, hoping this would crush any dissent that could rise out of the tension.

Gabriel sat at a table in the mess hall by himself, his legs propped up on it. He ran a finger through his moustache, going back to the argument with Jack over and over again. His best friend had humiliated him in front of their peers, their fellow operatives. Something the man did not take too kindly.

"Ahem," a voice said. Gabriel turned around to see a lanky man with glasses and a labcoat, faded brown hair flowing down to his shoulders. "Senior Officer Reyes."

"Hmm," Gabriel growled lowly. He recognized the man as one of the regulars that worked at the base. Science officer, specializing in medicine and engineering. He had served under Angela's team during the Omnic Crisis. Nowadays, he was off base most of the time, working on privately sanctioned projects dedicated to combating Talon and researching new potential heroes. "Doc."

"Hmm," the doctor said, an amused huff of air coming through his nose. "Mind if I sit, Reyes?"

"Hrmm," Gabriel growled, moving his feet. The doctor took a seat beside him. A silence was hanging in the air between them, growing more and more awkward by the second.

"So…" the doctor said. "Heard about what happened with Lacroix."

"Yeah. Real shame…" Gabriel's voice lacked any sort of enthusiasm. The doctor twiddled his thumbs as he felt the soldier's eyes baring down on him.

"Any results?" he asked, shrugging.

"Nothing," was his reply. "Strike Commander Morrison's come up with no results. Just content to have his men patrol up and down the halls." The doctor frowned.

"Doesn't seem like much of a plan," he said.

"I agree," Gabriel said, leaning forward. "We won't get results this way. Talon's long gone. But somebody in here knows something. I can feel it."

"Well, what do you suggest?" Gabriel looked away, shaking his head and huffing in agitation.

"Torture," he growled. "Squeeze somebody enough until they talk. Somebody always does. Morrison didn't agree. Felt it was unethical and stood against what Overwatch was about. Needed to preserve our "integrity." And looks at where "integrity" has gotten us. Dead guards, a dead officer, a missing civilian, and nobody who has a damn clue about what happened."

"I agree, Reyes." Gabriel's eyes twitched, the words not registering for a split second. He slowly leaned forward, staring at the doctor as though he had grown a second head.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"I said I agree," the doctor repeated. "Between you and me…" He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I think Overwatch has gotten soft." Gabriel's brows rose in surprise.

"Really," he said.

"Yeah," the doctor said, with an enthusiastic nod. "Where's the results? We're nowhere closer to beating Talon. Seems like Overwatch just exists as a money vacuum now." Gabriel smirked and huffed through his nose.

"What are you complaining about?" he asked. "You get to build your fancy little machines with that money."

"What good is that when people are getting killed? Getting kidnapped because somebody can't patch up all the holes in the wall? Talon walks away without a scratch. We're cleaning up our own men." The doctor sat his hands on the table and shook his head. "A disgrace. We're supposed to be heroes. The United Nations formed this task force so they could be useful for once. Not a drain on resources." A grin manifested itself on Gabriel's face.

"You're speaking my language, Doc," he said. The fight against Talon had produced less savory results than the fight against the omnics years ago. Morrison was an effective leader, but Talon seemed to have the edge over them. And the suspicion of spies didn't help either. The doctor tightened his lips and held a closed fist to them, looking down at the table. "Got something to say?" He sighed.

"I don't want to overstep any bounds," he said. "I know you and Strike Commander Morrison are good friends."

"We used to be…." Jack had been promoted to Strike Commander of Overwatch after the Omnic Crisis for his service in the field. This felt like a blow to Gabriel's pride. He had been in the same super soldier program Jack had been. His service record was spotless, with just as many commendations as Jack. He had even more omnic kills and could even put on theatrics when killing the machines. And yet Jack was picked over him. As time went on, both Gabriel and the people became dissatisfied with Overwatch and its lack of progress in the post-Omnic Crisis world. They were once thick as thieves, but Jack seemed to regard Gabriel's opinion less and less. "Now, he's let it go to his head.

"He's gotten soft," the doctor said. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. "You know, I read your service record, Reyes. You're a man of many talents. Not many men can dual wield shotguns." A slight smirk could be seen on his face. "You tore through omnics left and right on the battlefield, throwing yourself into the heart of it. Some would call you reckless."

"And yet I saved many of our men's hides out there," Gabriel growled. "I killed those tin cans to protect our boys. To protect innocent men. I worked just as hard as he did."

"You don't have to prove it to me," the doctor said. "I've read your file. I had faith in you even back when you underwent your training." Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the doctor.

"That so?" he asked. The doctor nodded.

"I had worked on the super soldier serums they would administer you. Performance enhancing drugs with the side effect of advanced aggressiveness."

"Hmph," Gabriel growled, smirking. "Explains a lot." A criticism Gabriel had heard time and again was how aggressive he was on the battlefield. Jack held himself in higher control while Gabriel cut loose.

"In all seriousness, I think you can do better than Jack," the doctor whispered. His smirk transformed into a grin.

"So do I," Gabriel said. "But they'll never make me Strike Commander. Jack's got Secretary-General Adawe in his pocket." Gabrielle Adawe held her position as Secretary-General on the UN during the Omnic Crisis. She was one of the key figureheads in developing the Overwatch Initiative.

"Conflict of interest," the doctor said. "Tsk tsk tsk. Collusion and dishonest disguised as ethics in civil protection. Real piece of work. But then again, the UN has been a joke for years so they're not used to any sense of accountability."

"Heh," Gabriel said. "I like you, Doc." The doctor smirked. He looked around the mess hall, seeing it empty save for the two of them. He leaned in close, whispering once more.

"You know, I'm not supposed to tell anyone this, but…" He looked around again for good measure. The room, still empty. He gulped. "There's an inner circle we got. Some of the higher ups have had it going on for years."

"What inner circle?" Gabriel growled.

"An elite task force within the elite task force," he said. "Of exceptional individuals put to the task of doing the tough stuff. Willing to do things no one else can stomach." Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

"Such as?"

"Assassination, extortion, interrogation. You name it. Anything to get the edge up on our opponents. The brass knows about it, but they've been forcing us to drag our feet. Keeping us understaffed and out of work. And I bet we could've gotten the jump on Talon had we had free range to do so."

"And you're telling me all this. Why?"

"Because I think your talents can be put to better use with us. You can help us get things done. If Morrison doesn't take value in your skills, we will." Gabriel was silent, staring the doctor down. A covert ops group running secretly within Overwatch? Doing the rough stuff to get results? No red tape? It all sounded too good to be true. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but the failure to keep Talon at bay within their own base ate away at him. As did Jack's lack of results. And him shutting him down in front of the others like he was his kid brother. They were equals. Or, rather, they were supposed to be. Overwatch was supposed to be the watchdog force of the world, and Talon was slipping through the cracks in their fists. Maybe this inner circle could help get results. Could help prove himself to Jack and the rest.

"What's it called?"

* * *

"Blackwatch?" The suit had been sent back to the covert Talon laboratory to check up on the Widowmaker's progress. The doctor guided him to the lab with a mug of coffee for both of them.

"You heard right." The doctor smirked at him proudly, striding down the hall.

"Are you sure this is wise?" he asked. "Letting Reyes this close?"

"The man has an ego," the doctor said. "I read his psychiatric evaluations. An ego and a high state of aggressiveness. Jack Morrison being elevated to Strike Commander status put quite some distance between the two. I played to his ego, spun him a story, and he was ready and willing. And if you're worried about him blowing the whistle, don't worry. He doesn't know the full story."

"Mmm hmm…" The suit adjusted his tie, following the doctor into the lab. "I don't know. I think you're taking too many risks here." He felt the arm reach around him and rest on his shoulders.

"Relax," the doctor assured him. "I didn't get this far by being careless. Reyes will be kept in check, especially now that we've made him commander of Blackwatch."

"Commander? But he's new to the scene. This is all sounding too risky."

"Like I said, the man has an ego," the doctor said. "Blackwatch has more freedom to operate. The UN keeps all their activity quiet and tucked away. The most you'll hear of it are from conspiracy forums on the internet. Besides, there'll be a lot of activity coming from Talon for the next few weeks that'll be enough to keep them occupied. He'll be too busy shooting people and sticking it to Morrison to look inward. Give him enough room and feed him enough info, and he'll come around." The suit frowned, unconvinced. The doctor was keeping something from him. He knew that Blackwatch existed and that they had moles inside Overwatch, but how deep did this go? His job was communications, and he was being kept in the dark. This should be the other way around, he thought.

"Alright, fine," he said in exasperation. He thumbed through the virtual files on his tablet. "So what about this other guy?"

"Jesse McCree," the doctor said. "Born in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Former member of the Deadlock Gang. Arrested during an Overwatch sting operation. Convicted of trafficking unsanctioned weapons and military hardware. Found him while digging through the files for potential Blackwatch candidates. And potential Talon agents. Guy was gonna rot in some prison for the rest of his life."

"We're gonna let a common street thug into Blackwatch?" the suit asked. "Can we trust him?"

"Come on. These gangs are all just meatheads that dropped out of school, looking for their next fix. Guy's not even remotely on the level of advanced genetically altered gorilla scientist." The suit blinked at him, dumbfounded by his statement.

"Gorilla?" he asked. The doctor laughed.

"Oh, I got stories I could tell you. But suffice to say, the guy's one hell of a shot. You should watch the security tape in those files. Guy blasted six men in the blink of an eye with a revolver."

"What makes you think he's Talon material?"

"Potential Talon material. He's not guaranteed a spot just yet."

"I don't know. I-"

"Look. Just relax. Drink your coffee and do your job, messenger boy. Let me handle Overwatch." The suit grimaced, dipping into his mug and drinking the coffee down. This long haired hippie looking egghead was always getting the better of him. How does he manage to know more than me, he thought to himself? I'M the communications specialist.

The doctor paid him no heed, instead contently looking over the progress they had made into training Widowmaker. While the suit sweated over the small stuff, the doctor saw the big picture. At least the big picture in his head that others had helped paint for him. Everything was falling into place. Even the future missteps would fall into place.

Talon had not even begun to fight.


	4. Reap What You Sow

The tension between the public and Overwatch had risen over time, as did the tension between Overwatch and Blackwatch. More evidence of its controversial actions came to light, and it became increasingly difficult to sidestep around them. Reyes and Morrison stood their ground and were at each other's throats almost constantly, their friendship souring into a bitter rivalry. The lines in the sand were being drawn between Blackwatch and the rest of Overwatch, either for or against. Very few could remain neutral in this conflict. The new recruit and former outlaw Jesse McCree had gone AWOL to escape the conflict, with no trace of him to be found.

Many tried to reach out to Reyes in an attempt to reason with them, but he drew ever inward, sending them away. His dissatisfaction with Overwatch's lack of progress and the lack of appreciation for Blackwatch's part in the fight against Talon had put up walls between nearly everyone. It would all culminate in a civil war at Overwatch's Switzerland headquarters. Reyes led Blackwatch in a revolt against Morrison and his Overwatch loyalists. Many either died or were left forever changed by the battle, physically, mentally, or both.

Reyes became conscious of the world around him, sensing dull sounds and the faint air around him. As his eyes slid open, he felt disoriented, the memories of the battle flooding back. He and Morrison had cornered each other in the power plant. In hindsight, a poor place to pick for a standoff, but both were too consumed with anger to think straight. A stray gunshot had damaged the reactor and triggered an explosion that leveled the HQ into burning rubble. And here Reyes resided, on his stomach surrounded by fire and shrapnel. Battered, beaten, but alive. And if he was alive, then so was Morrison.

Reyes struggled to make focus of the area, his left eye damaged. The right half of his face had a searing white mark through it, a severe burn. An ear was missing, the world muffled to him. His ribs ached with great intensity, many of them broken. Gritting his teeth, he pushed up from the ground and attempted to rise from his feet. But he fell onto his stomach, unable to stand. The eviscerated soldier looked down to his legs and found half of them missing. His legs were severed at the knee, the bone sticking out and coated in a dark red and brown mix of muddy blood. He inhaled sharply, hissing through his teeth. The pain and heat, no matter how intense, would not deter him. Digging his fingers into the dirt, he dragged himself through the ruins. Determined to find Jack Morrison and end it. He knew he was alive somewhere. The sound of a jet engine roaring drew his attention. The craft was lifting off, the hatch closing. It turned away from the base and rushed out to sea.

"Jack!" Reyes yelled, holding his arm out to the plane as it faded on the horizon. His gut told him he was on that plane. His best friend – former best friend – had left him behind to die. "JAAAAAACK!" His shouts echoed over the broken landscape but nary a reply to be found. The dying man collapsed into the dirt, his good eye staring out into the clouds of dust that hung over the ruins. His body was failing, but he would not die here. Not before he killed Jack.

"There he is!" a voice cried out. Reyes weakly turned to see several armed guards in black riot gear approaching him, accompanied by the doctor who had convinced him to join Blackwatch. As the years had gone by, his hair had shorted to below his ears, and his beard was coming in stronger.

"You're alive," the doctor said in astonishment. "I'll be damned." He knelt down in the dirt beside him. "Any other man would be dead. I knew there was something about you."

"What are you doing here?" Reyes asked weakly, his voice still a throaty growl.

"We came to scavenge the ruins," the doctor said. "We wanted to find tech that hadn't been obliterated. Instead, we found you. Didn't think you would've survived. I gotta say, you and Morrison really made a mess."

"Jack," Reyes growled. "He's alive. I can feel it."

"Likely," the doctor said, rubbing his chin. "You survived, and you were both trained in the same super soldier program. Wouldn't be too big a stretch."

"I'm dying," Reyes rasped, his voice growing faint. "I can't die. Not before I kill Jack. For what he did to me. For leaving me behind."

"You won't die. We're bringing you in, Reyes. We're going to save you. Remake you." The doctor's voice faded, and Reyes fell unconscious. "Get me a stretcher! We're getting him out of here."

"Yessir!" A guard sprinted back to the recovery vehicle. The rest stood around the doctor as he stared down at the body of Gabriel Reyes.

"We found our number two," he whispered with a grin.

* * *

"This is insanity!" The doctor rolled his eyes at the suit, just now having been debriefed on their plan. Gabriel Reyes had been recovered by Talon forces an hour ago and was now strapped to an operating table inside a sealed laboratory. A breathing mask was hooked to his face, the gas he inhaled keeping him unconscious for the procedure. "This is all his fault in the first place!"

"A minor setback," the doctor said dismissively.

"Minor? He destroyed an entire base! Overwatch is being dissolved as we speak!" The doctor had not anticipated the rivalry between Reyes and Morrison to escalate to this level. Their plan would now have to be greatly modified. His superiors wanted him to execute Reyes, but the doctor had a better idea.

"The heroes will still be out there," the doctor said. "As long as they live, Overwatch lives. And now they'll go into hiding or retire. Fade away from the public interest. We have to wipe the slate clean completely."

"I still don't see why we don't just cut out the middle man and let Talon loose," the suit said.

"You don't think somebody hasn't thought the same thing? Our mutual benefactors aren't the only ones in charge, you know."

"Should we be on the lookout for a civil war of our own?"

"Certainly not. Let them play their game. If it works, which it won't, then we win. If their plan brings Overwatch back into commission, then we're still set. This game is rigged from all angles."

"So what angle is he?" The suit pointed to the body of Reyes. "Why him?"

"You have to ask? Look at him. He's been wrapped up in a bow for us. An opportunity for experimentation doesn't come like this every day, you know."

"He's not much use to us in this state," the suit said. Reyes' body had been stripped of what remained of his clothes and was now being cleaned by the crew. The bleeding had been halted in his legs, and heavy surgical supplies were being rolled in. "Plan on slapping some cybernetics on him and making him like Widowmaker?"

"Oh, no no no," the doctor said, wagging a finger. "Cybernetics is the industry standard. We don't go for standard here."

"We're scientists, not salesman," the suit replied flatly.

"I'm a scientist. You're a-"

"I know, I know. I'm the rep. Then what do you plan to do with him?" The doctor smiled and leaned forward. Before them was a steel box, sealed tightly with an electronic lock. The doctor punched the code, and it opened with a hiss. Smoke billowed out as it was opened. A small metal disk sat inside. The doctor punched a button, and a swirling mass of red cubes floated on the platform.

"This is what I plan to do." The suit stared at it in awe.

"But the reports say that technology has never been tested on biomatter!" the suit said. "Even the Vishkar Company doesn't know how it works yet."

"Like I said: opportunity." The doctor looked up at Reyes, still unconscious on the operating table. "We'll make an agent unlike anything the world has ever seen. Not even Overwatch can do what we will have done."

"If we can even do it."

"Enough." The doctor held up a hand and lifted the box. "There is work to be done."


	5. Self Reflection

Gabriel felt lost, surrounded by darkness. He was confused, completely unaware of where he was. Or if he was awake. Or even alive. He couldn't feel his body or anything. The soldier felt like a disembodied spirit floating in a shadowy miasma. All he could remember was that he was lying in the dirt, abandoned by Jack. He was dying. The doctor had promised to save him.

" _Hiyah!" a small voice cried out, followed up with a loud smack. A little girl had kicked a punching bag._

Something was coming through the wisps of black smoke around him. Visions of something from long ago. They lacked color. He saw himself. And a small girl.

" _Hrn," Gabriel growled, a grin on his face. "Harder." The girl spun around and slammed into it with her foot once again, strafing back and coming forward throwing punches. Her fists hit the leather bag like bullets flying out of a machine gun, punches left and right. The Blackwatch agent grinned with satisfaction as he watched her pour all her stamina and adrenaline into the bag. "Hit it like you mean it, kid!"_

" _Heeyah!" With a loud cry, her foot rocketed into the middle of the bag, causing the bottom half to curl up. A low chuckle came from Gabriel's lips._

" _Excellent," he said, patting her on the head. "Your mom's gonna be proud." The little girl wiped the sweat from her brow with a damp rag. She lifted the water bottle and guzzled its icy contents down, the condensation nice and cool on her hands._

" _I don't know what I'm training for, though, Uncle Gabriel," she said. "Mom won't let me join Overwatch."_

" _When you're of age, that'll be your call to make, kid," Gabriel said. The little girl huffed._

" _Maybe then you'll finally call me by my name?" she asked. Gabriel chuckled again and ruffled her hair._

" _Not a chance, kid," he said. "You can be as old as me, and I'll still call you that." The girl pouted, and the man couldn't help but smile._

" _I don't wanna be a sniper, though," the girl said. "I wanna shoot a big gun! Like you!"_

" _Hmm," Gabriel huffed, smirking. "Well, maybe later, I'll take you down the shooting range and let you fire mine." The girl's eyes lit up with anticipation._

" _You serious?" she exclaimed._

" _Certainly not." The two turned to see Ana standing in the doorway, a smirk on her face._

" _Aww, Mom," the girl said._

" _How much did you hear?" Gabriel asked._

" _The shooting range," Ana said. "Stick to martial arts, little Faheera."_

" _But Mom…"_

" _No buts," Ana said. "When you're older, maybe." She looked to Gabriel and shook her head, her lips pursed into an amused smile. "You'll drive a woman to the grave, filling her daughter's mind with such ideas this young. How did she do?"_

" _Very well," Gabriel said. Ana blinked in surprise._

" _Really?" she asked. "That's impressive coming from you, Gabriel. You're hard to gain approval from. Although, I hope you're not saying this just to butter me up."_

" _Even if I was, it's still true," he said. "You trained her well."_

" _Now you're trying to butter me up," she teased. "Come along, Faheera. It's time for your studies."_

" _More books?" Faheera asked. "I wanna punch more things!" Ana suppressed a giggle._

" _You've been hanging about with Gabriel too long," she said. "Thank you for training with her."_

" _Thanks for the opportunity," Gabriel said, wiping his forehead with his own rag. "Tomorrow again?"_

" _Yes, indeed."_

" _Bye, Uncle Gabriel!" Mother and daughter left the gym to meet with Jack._

The vision faded, swallowed up by darkness. Gabriel tried to reach out to it but had no arms. Or maybe he did but he couldn't use them. Or maybe he didn't even have a body anymore. The man was confused. The doctor had promised to save him. Was he dead? Was this purgatory? He couldn't believe such a thing. He couldn't be dead. Not without having garnered revenge on Jack. He felt many things. Confusion. Uncertainty. Nostalgia.

Through the black mist, another vision manifested. Gabriel stared at it deeply. He saw himself again and little Faheera. Like before, he remembered what it was.

" _You didn't come to training today," he said. Faheera stared down at her feet, tension in her stomach._

" _I know," she said softly. "Commander Morrison doesn't want me training with you anymore."_

" _What?" Gabriel growled. A knot of disbelief, hurt, and anger swelled in his chest._

" _He said you're a bad influence," Faheera admitted. "He wouldn't tell me why. I don't believe him, but he makes the rules."_

" _What about your mother?" Gabriel asked. "What does she have to say?"_

" _She… agreed," Faheera said. Gabriel felt his bottom lip curl up, his brows lowering into a glare. Not at her. At the thought of Ana. She always tended to side with Jack. They all did. He looked down at her, noticing the hurt in her eyes. They were glossy and seemed to be holding back tears._

" _Go on, kid," he said. "I need to have a talk with Jack." He stepped past her down the metal hall, boots echoing on the metal._

" _Are you mad at me?" Faheera asked shakily. Her voice was fragile. A knot of pain caught itself in his chest._

" _No." He turned around swiftly, kneeling before her and placing his hands on her shoulders. "It's not your fault." The last thing he wanted was to hurt her._

" _I don't understand," Faheera admitted, wiping her eyes. "Why do Commander Morrison and Mom not want me to train with you anymore? We've trained for months together! Did I do something wrong?"_

" _No!" Gabriel declared. "It's just…" His voice caught in his throat. He let out a gravely sigh. "It's adult business. You wouldn't understand." Faheera stepped back from him and stamped her foot._

" _Mom says the same thing!" she said with a pout. "I'm not a baby! I'm part of Overwatch too!" She ran away with tears in her eyes before he could even attempt to think of an answer. His heart sank as he watched her leave. His pain turned to anger, and he stormed to Jack's office. His footfalls echoed with each stomp._

The hurt and pain from that moment returned to him. He had forgotten about it, having become so engrossed with Blackwatch. Of doing the things the rest could never do. What Jack was unable to do. Gabriel couldn't explain to little Faheera. He believed that Blackwatch was necessary and could get results in the fight against Talon, but she was a kid. He saw the world for what it truly was, but he wanted to shelter her from that. To keep her innocence. He felt himself smirk, or he would if he had a body. Innocence. Such a concept amused him. Being a soldier and being part of both Overwatch and Blackwatch had robbed him of that. He pitied and looked down upon adults who retained their innocence. Yet, when he looked at Faheera, he saw that it was something the youth should hold onto as long as they can. Looking back on it now, a part of her's died that day. Gabriel felt a burning sensation rise up around him. A familiar feeling, and one that he had come to enjoy. It felt stronger than usual.

Before he could identify it, another vision graced him. He saw himself again, standing in an office. Jack's office.

" _So that's how it's gonna be," Gabriel growled. "You're a real prick, Jack."_

" _You made your choice," Jack said. The two were by themselves, the thick walls muting their words so only they could hear them. "You think a man with blood on his hands has any right to help with the development of a child?"_

" _Her mother's a sniper-"_

" _You leave Ana out of this." The blond soldier was face to face with Gabriel, their jaws locked and fire in their eyes. "I'm doing what's best for her daughter."_

" _So was I," Gabriel growled. "Ana asked me to train the kid."_

" _And now I've given the order for that to stop." Gabriel huffed through his nose and shook his head._

" _You've let this position go to your head," he sneered. "Always gotta be the favorite, doncha, Jack?"_

" _Jealousy doesn't suit you," Jack huffed. "Still haven't gotten over me being chosen over you?"_

" _You got a funny memory, old man," Gabriel growled. "I led this team far before the UN made you their poster boy."_

" _You taught 'em how to shoot a gun," Jack retorted. "I taught 'em how to be a group."_

" _And look at where that progress has gotten you. Your dick's in your hand while Blackwatch solves the real problems. You don't know what it takes to be a leader, Jack. You're a half measure. We're not fighting omnics anymore. We're fighting people. People with agendas, and you get cold feet because they bleed blood like you and me."_

" _Assassination? Torture? Kidnapping? Those make you better than me? We're supposed to be heroes!"_

" _This isn't your farmboy fairy tales, Jack. This is the real world. You gotta get your hands dirty and break the rules if you wanna stop Talon and protect people."_

" _You're full of shit," Jack growled._

" _Maybe one day, you'll see," Gabriel sneered. "Doubtful, though. You've got your head so far up your own ass. Don't know how you make room for everyone else. Reinhardt, Ana, Torbjörn, and the Secretary-General. All our friends, and you turned them against me."_

" _You did that yourself. And you leave Adawe out of this too." Gabriel huffed._

" _Always found it funny Gabrielle favored you over me, considering my kill ratio was higher. Did you fuck her?" Jack clenched his fists, the knuckles popping._

" _You watch your mouth with me," he said coldly. "I am your CO."_

" _Does Ziegler know? Would make sense why she favored you like everyone else does. Probably fucked her too-" Gabriel fell to the floor, knocked back by the strength behind Jack's punch. His lip was busted open, blood flowing from it and darkening his teeth._

" _You talk about the doctor like that again, and I'll make you eat your teeth," Jack growled. Gabriel cackled and rose to his feet, wiping his lip._

" _Punching an unarmed man," he sneered. "What a hero." Jack reached forward and grabbed his shirt collar, but Gabriel pushed him back, pinning him to the wall with one arm. "I was always stronger than you, Jack." He pressed his arm against his windpipe. "You wanna settle this like men? Then we'll settle it right now."_

" _Hands. Off. That's an order." Gabriel removed his arm, and Jack pushed him off. The two heaved with their breathing, sweat rolling off their foreheads. "And you wonder why I don't want Faheera around you." Gabriel locked his jaw and glared daggers through him. "Dismissed." Before Gabriel could respond, Jack left. The electronic door slid down behind him._

The vision faded. He remembered what that emotion was. That feeling that surrounded him. Anger. Hatred. A harsh thumping sound could be heard echoing in his ears. A heartbeat. So he was alive! A tension could be felt around him, becoming stronger. His fists were clenched, the veins in his arms sticking out. He had a body, too. The pressure behind his eyeballs and around his brain increased, feeling as though his skull would explode. He was beyond angry. Though he had felt anger before, it was never of this intensity. He heard a sizzling, a hissing noise. The smell of black smoke around him. His body roared with heat. His skin screamed out as something was seared into his flesh. He felt no pain, only anger and hate. At Jack. At Overwatch. At his confusion of not knowing where he was or what had happened.

A single word rang out. A single word brought him back to the world of the living. A single word opened his eyes.

"Awaken."


	6. Hellos and Goodbyes

Shapes and color flooded his eyes. While the colors were faded, he was nearly blindedwith sensory overload. Having been absorbed into the black miasma for so long, it proved difficult to adjust to. Both eyes were working again. He blinked and squinted, waiting for his eyes to settle. He looked around, seeing himself inside a tank. Smoke billowed around him. On the outside, several people in lab coats stood before him. One of them was the doctor himself. Armed guards dressed in black stood at attention.

A rasping sound reached his ears. It sounded weak. He blinked, feeling something sitting on his face. A breathing mask was covering his mouth. It was him. How bad was his condition?

"Where am I?" he breathed.

"Somewhere far away," the doctor said, his voice muffled from behind the glass. "You're off the grid, Reyes. We all are. I'm impressed you survived the experimentation. I had my doubts as we went further along, but here you are." Reyes narrowed his eyes at the doctor.

"Experimentation?" he asked, to which the doctor nodded.

"Your body was horribly mangled, Reyes. To a point where you could never recover with traditional medical practice. Were it not for us, you'd have spent the rest of your life as a vegetable. And your talents are a terrible thing to waste." Reyes craned his neck to look over his body as much as he could. The tank left little room to move around in. The black smoke inside obscured most of his body, but what little he could make out left him more confused. His dark skin was now pale, almost grey. And red glowing scars and lines ran over his torso, pulsing with his heartbeat. This was, by no means, conventional medical practice.

"What did you do to me?" The doctor held a metal disk to the glass. Reyes' eyes fixated on it searchingly. He pressed a button, and the red cubes materialized, swirling and forming together into different shapes. Reyes stared at it intently, his eyelids lowering as he lost himself in thought. Visions of it and blurred words in greyscale played in his mind. Muffled speech could be heard. He shut his eyes and thought harder, wanting to breakthrough. Reyes let out an agitated huff. No dice. "What is it?"

"You're familiar with hard-light technology?" Reyes huffed again, jerking his head forward slightly. That was what it was called. "This is the next step. Wave of the future."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I'm sure you know, but hard-light technology allows its user to synthesize physical objects from a light source. The Vishkar Corporation built an entire city using this tech. Recently, a new discovery was made by them through their space program. A new form of energy, that operates exactly like hard-light."

"But what does this have to do with ME?" Reyes growled.

"Don't interrupt," the doctor said. "I'm having me time right now. It can form structures at a faster rate than hard-light, is more malleable, and consumes less energy. However, there are a few drawbacks. One: it's incredibly rare. Two: it's highly volatile. Three: we own the only known sample of it. Four: the people in Vishkar that led the space expedition are dead."

"So you fused it into me," Reyes growled. "For what purpose?"

"Cybernetics are too old fashioned and can be hacked," the doctor said. "We had a venue to exploit, and we did it. And our labor has born generous amounts of fruit."

"So you used me like a laboratory specimen." He gritted his teeth, glaring at the doctor.

"You weren't really in a position to argue. You should be grateful. We made you stronger than ever before, and you'll get to show us your true potential in time."

"Who's us?"

"Talon." Reyes stared in disbelief. His enemy, the one that he had fought so long and hard against. They not only held him here but saved his life.

"Talon…" he repeated. "But I'm…. I was Overwatch."

"That's the key word there. As we speak, Overwatch is being dissolved, thanks to you and Morrison's little battle. Those of us that survived went underground. This puts a little monkey wrench in our operation."

"I don't care about that," Reyes growled. "All I want is revenge. Revenge on Jack for this."

"You'll get it. But not until you're better equipped and better informed. Together, we'll take down Overwatch. Jack Morrison is a mutual enemy of ours, so it would behoove you to cooperate. And I wouldn't insist on arguing with me on this." Reyes glowered at the man. He had had enough of being given orders and being the lackey. Look where it had gotten him. Talon. Overwatch. Neither meant anything to him anymore. All he felt was anger. Anger at Jack. At Overwatch. At the world. He'd find him and would prove once and for all that he was the better. But confined in this tank. At their mercy. Such things did not settle with him.

"Fine," he said, a reluctant sigh escaping his throat. "Inform me." The doctor smirked and nodded, looking over a clipboard one of the other scientists was holding.

"The experiment did not come without consequences," he began. "Because of your condition and the red energy, your cells are in a constant state of decay and regeneration. The energy's presence within your organic tissue has allowed you to regrow your legs and repair your damaged internal structure. Provided your brain is still intact, you can regenerate a damaged or lost limb within a day."

"You said this stuff needed a high energy output to stabilize," Reyes said. "So how did you get it to fuse with me?"

"The super soldier serum injected into you amplified your body's strength and stamina tenfold, as it did with Morrison. That's the best hypothesis we can form as to why it settled successfully with your organic structure."

"You mean you don't know?"

"We'll have more opportunities to study your new body's potential once you've recovered completely."

"Well, let's not waste any time," Reyes said. "Get me out of here, and let's get started. Overwatch isn't gonna wipe itself out."

"Not yet," the doctor said dismissively. "Your body hasn't stabilized completely. If you don't rest, you could burn yourself out and die. Fizzle out like a candle wick. And we poured far too much money and time into you to lose you just yet."

"I'll be fine," Reyes growled, raising his hand to push on the glass. "Let me out. NOW."

"No," the doctor stated. The man's eyes began glowing red as he glared at them. The smoke inside billowed and rose up, cloaking his body. His red eyes peered through the smoke, like some sort of specter. The scientists flinched away, and the guards slowly approached, their guns drawn. The doctor held a hand up. "Gas him."

The tank began to fill with a clear mist, filling up the inside swiftly. Reyes coughed and shook violently, pounding on the glass to escape. His arms became heavier, his vision fading. His head slumped over, and he descended into the dark recesses of his psyche once more. The black smoke dissipated as he fell unconscious. The doctor rested a gloved hand on the glass. "In time, you'll fall in line too. We won't have another incident like at Switzerland. No, no, no. You'll listen. Or I'll make you listen."

* * *

The sun shined over the land, not a cloud in the sky. Very unfitting for a memorial service.

Overwatch had gathered at the United Nations, its heroes a sad and sorry lot. But they were Overwatch no longer, having been disbanded in the wake of the Switzerland incident. Blackwatch and their shady activities had been brought to light, and the media ate it up ravenously. They were once heroes, during the Omnic Crisis. But as the years went on and Overwatch was unable to gain any traction in its fight against Talon and other third party villains, the heroes were looked upon with scorn. Switzerland was the deathknell for them. Even its fiercest supporters felt it was time to hang it up. So the heroes had no choice but to sign the Petras Act, a UN document that made any Overwatch activity illegal. And then Jack and Gabriel were tended to.

There were no bodies to bury. Only empty graves. That combined with the Petras Act felt like a disservice to Jack. But there was nothing to be done.

Most of the heroes were talking amongst themselves or had left. Angela stood before the plaque in the grass, surrounded by those that stayed. She wore a black suit, wearily gazing down at the plaque.

 _Here lies JACK MORRISON. COMMANDER. OVERWATCH._

So blunt. So dry. Straight to the point. It's what Jack would've wanted, but it didn't settle with Angela. It felt so cold. Reinhardt's rousing speech about Jack's prowess and accomplishments was touching and honorable, but this measly plaque. After all he had done for the world, the UN couldn't be bothered to give him something more? She sighed and dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

"Aww, lass," a gruff Swedish voice said. She looked to her left, seeing a short bearded man in a black suit. "Don't hold it in. Let it out." Angela sighed softly.

"I wish I could, Torbjörn," she confessed. "But I can't. Not in front of the UN. In front of all these people."

"But they're our friends. It's not good to keep it all cooped up inside," the Swede said. She nodded.

"You're right. But not here." Others had come to join them. A woman with wild brown hair and a strange device strapped to her chest and a large gorilla wearing glasses. They stared down at the plaque solemnly.

"How did this happen, Winston?" the woman asked, sporting a thick Cockney accent. The gorilla sighed, polishing his lenses on his suit tie.

"Lena, I wish I could answer that," he said. "The world is never as simple as we imagine it, and even when we think we've got it figured out, an unexpected curveball comes our way."

"This be one hell of a curveball," Torbjörn said. Angela swatted at his shoulder.

"Don't swear before the dead," she scolded. "It's rude."

"Sorry, lass."

"Guys…" Lena said. Angela and Torbjörn turned, seeing she and Winston facing another direction. Farther up was a muscular man with a white beard and one eye, kneeling before a plaque.

"Oh…" Angela said softly, holding a hand to her mouth. They all knew whose plaque he was visiting. They approached him, Angela placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Reinhardt…" Several years ago, Ana had gone in a cover mission and had been killed in action by an unknown Talon agent. It was often rumored that she and Reinhardt were close, but neither one ever confirmed it. Lying on the plaque was a bouquet of white lotuses, her favorite flowers. The man looked back at them, smiling solemnly.

"So many of our friends reside here now," he said. His voice was soft, a harrowing thing to hear. Reinhardt was known for being loud and boisterous, a loud friendly man. It was so bizarre for him to quiet down. "First Ana, then Jack and Gabriel."

"Oh, Gabriel," Angela said. "A complex man, if there ever was one. I hope he finds peace in death."

"How noble of you, Doctor Ziegler," Winston said.

"I find it distasteful to disrespect the dead," she said. Reinhardt was looking in the direction of Gabriel's plaque. Someone had laid down a bouquet of white lotuses upon it as he did. A lone woman stood before it. Her hair was black and descended past her ears. She turned around, him catching her eye. She had dark skin and the Eye of Horus painted on her left eye. They recognized one another immediately.

"Little Faheera," Reinhardt said warmly. They all turned, looking at her. She smiled and saluted.

"Reinhardt," she stated. "And greetings to the rest of you as well." Faheera had grown much since her mother's death, both physically and mentally. No longer being sheltered by Ana, she felt it was time to spread her wings. Faheera had enlisted in the Egyptian Army, astounding them with her leadership skills and fearless determination. She had learned much from Ana, Gabriel, and the rest of Overwatch. She had even been recommended to be officially inducted into the organization. But now Overwatch was no more.

Angela looked down at the flowers placed upon his plaque. She smiled at Faheera warmly. "I thank you for your offering, Faheera. It means a lot." She nodded.

"Gabriel was a good man with good intentions," she said. "He just…. got lost along the way. Perhaps if he and Jack weren't so hardheaded, things would've turned out differently."

"You know how those two were," Reinhardt said. "Two brick walls smashing against each other. Thick skinned and thick headed."

"Men always have to turn to fighting for some reason," Angela said. "Why not talk things out? They were like brothers. But it was unavoidable, I suppose. Those two would never compromise once they set their mind to it." She sighed. "But to escalate to this level?"

"The heart of a soldier is one that must be tempered carefully, lest it consume you," Reinhardt said. Faheera looked down at Gabriel's plaque and frowned.

 _Here lies GABRIEL REYES. OVERWATCH._

"What a pitiful display," she said. "After all his service to Overwatch, this is how the UN repays him? Repays Jack? Ungrateful bunch of bureaucrats."

"Faheera," Reinhardt said softly. "A hero does the right thing because it is the right thing. Not for recognition or glory. Because it is what is expected." Faheera rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile.

"You've read your fantasy books one too many times," she joked. Reinhardt grinned playfully.

"Ah, but it was you who begged me often to read you them when you were a little girl, was it not?" Faheera stifled an amused giggle, trying to remain composed. The two sighed and looked back to Gabriel's plaque.

"What becomes of us now, loves?" Lena asked.

"Hmm," Winston said. "With Overwatch disbanded, we no longer have funding or equipment. We'll have to move on. Investigate other avenues of work."

"Well, the world will always need doctors," Angela said. "Think I'll travel the world, help those affected by the war."

"I'll need to dismantle me weapons and machines," Torbjörn said. "Can't risk Talon or Blackwatch getting ahold of them. Already enough destruction today as is." Angela smiled and nodded approvingly.

"Suppose I'll get a grant and continue research on your chronal accelerator, Lena," Winston said, polishing his glasses once more. "To solve your chronal disassociation." Lena patted his shoulder.

"Oh, Winston. I told you not to worry. I'm fine," she said reassuringly. Many years ago, Lena Oxton was one of Overwatch's top pilots and selected to help their flight research program. An experimental fighter jet, the Slipstream, had been constructed, possessing the ability to spontaneously teleport from one location to the other. During a test flight, the teleportation matrix malfunctioned and vanished, with Lena being pronounced KIA. In truth, she had been desynced with the flow of time, unable to stay in the present and vanished for days at a time. No solution could be found until she met Winston, who built the chronal accelerator to keep her grounded. He continued his research to find a cure but came up empty. And with Overwatch dissolved, things looked grim. "Well, I mean, it is difficult to bathe with. And sleep with. And there's the nightmares…" Her eyes drifted over to the gorilla, whose own shimmered with hurt. Hers widened at what she said. "B-but it's not a big deal! I mean, it looks cool. Plus, I can do this!" She teleported around the ground of them, zipping from place to place in the blink of an eye. "See?" Winston smiled and nodded, but guilt and insecurity crept into his heart. If he couldn't solve this, what kind of scientist was he? And what kind of friend? He shook his head, burying the matter deep. He would solve it, but that was a matter for another day. "As for me, think I'll travel the world and right wrongs." Reinhardt let out a laugh and slapped her on the shoulder, knocking the wind clean out of the Brit.

"Ha ha! Now that is what I want to hear!" he proclaimed. "I, myself, will do the same! I cannot sit idly by while evil is afoot, and the politicians do nothing! A knight of yore would never do such a thing!"

"But Reinhardt, Overwatch is disbanded," Angela said. "You can't."

"To do so would be vigilantism," Faheera said.

"Pffft," Reinhardt said, waving his hand dismissively. "Overwatch, Schmoverwatch. I fought as a soldier before Overwatch and will do so again! Talon and other evils will not escape my might!" Faheera shook her head, hiding an amused smirk. He was always quite a sight when he got in his knightly moods. Winston cleared his throat, garnering their attention.

"Well, with Overwatch disbanded, I feel that we'll need to stay in touch of our own accord." The gorilla reached into his coat pocket and removed several small white disks. "Communication devices for us to stay in touch, should we ever be needed again."

"Winston, not you too," Angela scolded.

"Doctor Ziegler, it's not what you think," he reassured. "We won't jump into action recklessly. But just in case one of us is given the word, we have a way to spread it. It also serves as a way for us to watch each other's backs. Reinhardt is correct. Talon is still out there, and they won't just give up like that." Lena reached down and took one, clutching it tightly. She smiled at him, and he at her. Angela nodded, taking one as well. Torbjörn and Reinhardt took one for each of them. Winston swung his hand over to Faheera. "Your mother wouldn't approve, but you were one of us, even if it wasn't official. It's only fair you should have one." Faheera smiled and took it.

"Suppose Mother got what she wanted after all," she said. "No Overwatch for little Faheera." The group of them laughed amongst themselves.

As the hours went on, the people left one by one. The sky was orange as the sun descended below the horizon. The plaques sat in silence, lonely and forgotten. Most of the UN hadn't bothered to show up or even offer condolences. They were just glad to have the thorn that was Overwatch out of their side. The news of Overwatch being dissolved came and went, overshadowed by celebrity and internet controversies. Everyone went their separate ways, occasionally keeping in touch. A part of them all died that day with Jack and Gabriel. The dream of what Overwatch was, what it was supposed to be, had the rug yanked out from them.


	7. Debriefing

Years had passed since the fall of Overwatch, and Talon continued unabated. Causing crises, reaping war. The heroes had gone their separate ways, to different parts of the globe. Their weapons, technology, and influence grew while Overwatch became a distant memory in the eyes of the public. Now only known from the comic books and merchandise made of them. Even their deaths were glanced over.

Throughout the years, various heroes of Overwatch were assassinated in brutal ways. The surviving members were forced to disappear from the public eye, and deaths shrunk. But eventually, one would turn up. Each murder ended the same: the body becoming a dried and withered husk, prematurely decomposing. Such was the calling card of the mysterious and ominous Reaper, a terrorist responsible for many acts of destruction and death across the globe. Arriving after the fall of Overwatch, the man traversed each battlefield like a specter, killing all who stood in his way.

He wore a black hooded trenchcoat covering his riot gear, grenades and shells strapped onto him. His metal boots thudded with each step he took. His defining characteristic was the white skull mask he wore. The weapon of choice was two short shotguns that he would dual wield, blowing his enemies away. It was impossible to operate two guns at once given the recoil. At least it was for a normal man. But Reaper was no normal man. And there were those that doubted he even was a man.

In truth, Reaper was a man. Formerly Gabriel Reyes of Overwatch. Having been cooped up in his tank for months after the fall, he began extensive training and physical therapy. Reaper was surprised at just how much he needed to re-experience to become field ready. Whatever energy Talon had given him had amplified his strength and stamina, allowing him to punch harder, run faster, and heal quicker. Research on his body showed remarkable findings. The red energy was capable of transmuting itself to different states of matter. As such, Reaper discovered he could transform his body from solid form to smoke. He could navigate areas in ways that no ordinary soldier could. In stealth missions, he could kill everyone in the room without ever materializing, taking the form of a choking gas and suffocating them. His Blackwatch training combined with his newfound skill set made him the most wanted man in the world, for various reasons. He was a living weapon, the Grim Reaper incarnate. But this was not without drawbacks.

Hard-light technology was capable of synthesizing synthetic objects, building stone and metal. Yet, it had never been successfully integrated with organic matter. At first, the red energy seemed to have accomplished what conventional hard-light could not. However, as the studies went on, the effects told a new story. Reaper's cells regenerated at a much higher rate, but they also decayed just as quickly. The body could repair itself at a much faster rate, but it could not synthesize the necessary nutrients like hard-light could synthesize minerals and materials for physical constructs. Reaper's body was burning itself out at a faster rate than the average human, effectively cutting his lifespan in half. To compensate for this, Talon altered his therapy sessions to include an advanced "feeding" period, where he would drain the nutrients from the living. This included traitors, spies, hostages, or politicians. Reaper would also drain his opponents on the battlefield, turning their bodies into dried husks. The more he drained, the stronger he became. But the more he was active, the faster he burned through it. To compensate this, Reaper was encouraged to use his powers less and rely on conventional weaponry more. Stealth, assassination, gunfighting, hand to hand. His powers were to be used only in dire circumstances.

His physical prowess had been amplified but so to had his temper. As such, Reaper was required to undergo hormonal therapy to keep him in line, lest he snap and kill everyone and burn himself out like a dying star. The red energy was also pumped into him as part of his monthly therapy sessions in order to keep him strong and addicted. That way, Reaper couldn't abandon them.

The doctor knew exactly how to get people to bend and break to his will, having studied psychology and worked with those struggling with drug and alcohol addiction. He knew what phrases to use, what points to press, and how to tell if they were hurting really bad for a dose. Combined with similar neurological therapy that Widowmaker had endured, Reaper was being molded into Talon's next "hero", whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Deep within the dark chamber illuminated by faint red lights, Reaper sat. He had come to favor the dark, keeping to the shadows and out of the light. He wore his armor whenever he was out of the tank, which was becoming more and more a regular occurrence. Throughout the years, Reaper would undergo therapy, do a hit, and then go back into stasis. The most he had spent awake during those times was a month. At times, he would awaken once a month, and other times, he would be under for several months. He had given up on keeping track of time or current events, letting the doctor funnel him information. He hated it. Hated being kept under his thumb, hated being groomed into a Talon soldier. Reaper was aware of what the neural therapy was for, and he resisted. But the red stuff. He needed it, itched without it. The man growled at himself, his inner thoughts getting to him. He tired of waiting, wanting to go into the world with blazing guns and taking Overwatch down. But he was always fed the same drivel. Patience, tact, and whatnot. They were in no way closer to taking out Overwatch or finding Jack. Jack had been declared KIA by the United Nations, but Reaper still held onto the fact that he was always. If he lived with a battered body with no legs, Jack could have survived. He had to be. Otherwise, what was the point? All that he had gone through, that he had endured. It couldn't have been for nothing.

A screech on the loudspeaker interrupted his thoughts. "Agent Reaper, please report to my office immediately for debriefing."

"Hrmm," Reaper growled, rising to his feet. So he was out of stasis for a reason. The doors slid open, white light pouring in from the sterile hallway. Reaper lowered his head and made his way to the doctor's office, hands in his trenchcoat pockets. Only people out there were the armed guards at their vigil. He didn't look at them, and they averted their gaze as he walked by. His head darted up as he was alerted to another set of footsteps, the sound of heels clacking on the floor. A woman slinked beside him, walking in the same direction he was. Reaper kept his head facing foreward but studied her out of his peripheral.

She had a tight purple bodysuit that hugged her curves closely, ending in a pair of black metal boots with low heels and rising up to reveal cleavage. Her left arm had a shoulderpad with a soft blue W on it, and a heavy gauntlet with a firing mechanism on her wrist. Her right arm was bare, exposing her strange pale blue skin. A tattoo ran up the sleeve of her lower arm, broken glass and lettering in a language he couldn't read. Her eyes were a cat-like yellow, clearly not natural in appearance. On her head sat a bulky visor with seven red lenses. She had a long purple ponytail that descended down her back. The woman carried a peculiar looking rifle in her hands, its design like nothing Reaper had ever seen. No doubt it and her outfit had been designed custom.

He didn't recognize her, and she stood out from the rest of the people here. Clearly not a scientist and not your average security detail. Another agent of the doctor's, perhaps? She didn't glance at him at all, didn't even blink. Focused on walking through the doors. The two entered the room, finding themselves in a wide white office. A brown throw rug sat before a dark steel desk, a lamp, a tablet, and various knick knacks sat atop it. The leather chair was turned away from them, facing the wall mounted computer terminals behind them. A news reporter was being filmed live on location in King's Row. The chair swung around, and the doctor leaned forward onto his desk. Over the years, the color of his now short hair had faded. His beard had grown out, framing his chin and head.

"Ah, there you are," he said, as though he did not expect to see them there. He held up two hands, pointing each to one of them. "Reaper, this is the Widowmaker. She was your predecessor. Widowmaker, this is the Reaper. Our newest field agent."

"Charmed," she said flatly in a thick French accent, not even bothering to look at him.

"Hrmm," he growled in response, also not glancing at her. "What's the job?" The doctor lifted a tablet and adjusted his glasses.

"Reaper, I'll be sending a squad with you on this mission," the doctor said. "You will be heading to Watchpoint: Gibraltar."

"The old Overwatch base? I thought it was abandoned."

"It was, until about a few months ago. We began to see activity in the facility. Old Overwatch loyalists had someone smuggled there. Someone important that they wanted to keep quiet. It took some "convincing", but we found out what we needed to know."

"An agent?"

"Indeed." He pressed a button on the tablet, and a holographic display of a gorilla wearing glasses appeared. "Winston. Genetically enhanced gorilla specimen raised on the Horizon Lunar Colony. Escaped to Earth after the colony and its scientists were killed in an ape uprising. Joined Overwatch and developed the chronal accelerator worn by Lena Oxton AKA Agent Tracer. Went off the grid after the United Nations dissolved Overwatch." Reaper cracked his knuckles in anticipation. It had been many missions since he had killed an Overwatch agent. "You and your regiment will infiltrate the base, kill Winston, and search through his findings. With any luck, he will lead us to other Overwatch agents. How prepared are you to leave?"

"Immediately." Reaper turned around and exited the room, his cape swishing behind him.

"I could provide support," Widowmaker said.

"Not necessary," he growled.

"Indeed," the doctor agreed. "You have a different objective, Widowmaker." He turned around in his chair and aimed a remote at one of the terminals, the volume rising. "I'm sending you to King's Row for an assassination mission." On the display was an omnic with grey metal plating and gold trim, a diamond made of blue neon lights on its forehead. "Your target is the Shambali leader, Tekhartha Mondatta. His elimination will feed the growing tension in Russia and across the globe as well as appease a client of ours."

"Pretty high target,"Widowmaker mused. The doctor smirked.

"You have doubts?" Widowmaker felt herself smirk involuntarily. She shut her left eye and held her hand up, aiming two fingers at the image of the omnic. She mock shot the image.

"One shot, one killl."


	8. Recall: Part 1

The moon hung high in the sky, the ocean shimmering with its faint white glow. A gentle breeze whizzed through the air, causing the old chainlink fence to shake. The gate to the old facility hung open, with metal signs reading "Closed by Executive Mandate" and "Keep Out: Petras Act" hanging on them. Seagulls cried out in the night as they soared over the sandy shore looking for crabs to snatch up. The old rocket facility had been empty for years, nary a soul to step within its boundaries until a few months ago.

Pulling a few strings, Winston managed to convince some old friends on the UN to grant him asylum within Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Such an act was mired in political greyness, hence why it was a mutual agreement to keep his presence and arrival there secret. Old Overwatch loyalists were called from underground to aid an old hero, smuggling him into Spain and to the facility. It had seen better days, but Winston loved hard work. With the help of the facility's AI Athena, the laboratory was clean and functional once more. After Overwatch was officially ordered to shut down, Athena was deactivated and presumably wiped and deleted. However, the AI was cleverer than they let on and saved a copy of itself into a deep drive, awaiting proper authorization to be reactivated. While the average UN tech expert couldn't uncover it, Winston was able to with ease. Now with someone to talk to, the gorilla felt less lonely.

After the Overwatch assassinations had gotten worse, the lot of them agreed to go dark, cutting off communications. Though it was for the greater good, Winston missed his old friends and teammates. Often, he would debate with himself whether or not to call up Lena and chat her up. But the last thing he wished was to put her in danger. To combat these feelings of isolation, Winston threw himself into his work, developing the latest advancements in weaponry, computer programs, and defensive systems. The scientist had made numerous strides in development but legally could not share them with the world, as they were developed with Overwatch tech and resources.

The gorilla sat at a metal desk, operating on a piece of machinery. Tools sat discarded on the surface. In the corner next to a lamp was an extra combat suit of his. Advancements in shields and self-healing diagnostics were made, but with no one to fight, it sat there collecting dust. A holographic display of the world was projected on a large terminal in a corner of the room. His large electricity gun sat on a workbench, gathering dust with his spare suit.

"Shield generator test ready to proceed," a feminine computerized voice stated. Winston placed his soldering iron to the side. He held the generator in his hands, running his gloved fingers over it. Tilted it at every angle, making sure nothing was out of place. Satisfied, he pressed down on the device, and it hummed to life, glowing a brilliant blue and white. Winston sat it down on his desk, and it erected a miniature shield bubble comprised of holographic hexagons. The gorilla leaned back in his seat, smiling at another job well done. Then the shield flickered. He peered at it searchingly as the shield began to glitch and lose form. An alarm rang out at four red octagons appeared with "FAIL" written in white lettering. He frowned at the rather insulting display, questioning why he had ever programmed it to do such a thing.

"Hmm," Winston said, leaning forward as he pondered his chin. The gorilla reached forward to touch it but was knocked to the floor by an unexpected EMP blast. His floor was now littered with various tools and empty cans of banana soda. He coughed and rose to his feet, growling in annoyance.

"Now, now," the computerized voice said matronly. "No need for that, Winston." The gorilla huffed and climbed onto the giant tire hanging from a rope. "Your heart rate is through the roof."

"I told you to stop monitoring my vitals, Athena," he said in annoyance, swinging on the rope to cool off. Athena was to be his assistant, not his mother. Winton swung himself up and vaulted over a guard rail onto a balcony above.

"Very well," Athena said. "It has been 43 days, 7 hours, 29 seconds since your last cardio workout." Winston shuffled over to his computer setup. Blue and orange terminals hung on the wall before him, offset by a banana tree in the corner. The gorilla sat on a heavy tire he used as a chair, retrieving his two favorite snacks: a banana and a jar of peanut butter. "A healthy body is a-"

"Healthy body," Winston repeated flatly. "That's why I have this." He peeled the banana and twisted the lid off the jar with his mouth. The gorilla spit it out, causing the lid to roll into the pile of eight other peanut butter lids. Cracking his toes, Winston pressed a button on the holographic keyboard and leaned back. After getting nowhere with his generator, he was just content to watch the news for the rest of the night. On the terminal was a woman with short brown hair, wearing a turtleneck sweater and a black blazer over it.

"The Second Omnic Crisis continues to devastate Russia. The conflict between omnics and humans has now claimed over fifty thousand lives. So far, the international community has been reluctant to intervene." Winston's eyes were glued to the screen as he munched on his banana. It felt so bizarre to be sitting there while another Omnic Crisis raged on. Overwatch was formed to combat this, and now it had returned. But they were gone. The gorilla couldn't help but wonder if everything they had ever done was for nothing. Did they just delay the inevitable? Were omnics and humans forever destined to wage war, with innocents getting caught in the crossfire as a result of hatred and bigotry? He gulped his banana down and glared at the news lady. This feeling of helplessness, of uselessness. It drove him crazy. Crises occurring every other day, innocents getting hurt, and the UN doing nothing to stop it. It ended today. Winston typed furiously on his keyboard, opening up a command prompt.

 _Initiate Overwatch Recall? [Y] [N]_

Before Overwatch had been dissolved, the inner circle had Athena prepare an emergency contingency. In the event of a global catastrophe, all surviving and able bodied agents of Overwatch were to return to active duty immediately, returning to Gibraltar. But there was no Overwatch anymore. The UN had dissolved it and made any influence they might have had null and void. The inner circle had thought themselves infallible. But the conflict between Morrison and Reyes just proved them wrong. But this wasn't about who was wrong or right. The world needed them. People were dying. Overwatch would return to-

"Everytime you see news of this sort, we go through this," Athena lectured. "I remind you that recalling Overwatch agents to active duty comes with great risk." Over the news report were two displays. One read "Petras Act" and had the logo of the United Nations above it. The other showed a news article from Atlas News, reading "Overwatch Disbanded!" The picture on it showed a man being escorted by police in handcuffs. "The Petras Act clearly states any Overwatch activity is deemed illegal and punishable by prosecution-"

"I know," Winston sighed gruffly, sitting up in his seat. "You're right." Winston hated being reprimanded by the AI, even when she was right. "That's the way the world is… but I do miss the old days." His gaze wandered to a photo plastered on the bottom of one of his screens. He could recognize everyone and remember everything, plain as day. It was a graduation ceremony, celebrating him getting his Ph.D. There he was in the middle, sporting a black and orange jumpsuit. He held up his certificate proudly, with Lena next to him jumping for joy. To his right was Reinhardt, flexing for the camera. McCree stood proud and tall in his Blackwatch uniform. Between the two of them was Genji Shimada, a newer Overwatch recruit. He had been the youngest member of the Shimada clan, a famous family in Japan comprising of ninjas and Yakuza. While a skilled master of the blade, he felt more at home in the clubs getting drunk and betting women. This made him the black sheep of the family and the target of an assassination attempt carried out by his own brother Hanzo. His brother had tried to talk with him before about getting serious, but he would not listen. In the end, the two fought, and Genji lost. On the verge of death, the Shimada ninja was saved by Overwatch agents, wishing to give him a second chance and turn him into an agent. Doctor Ziegler replaced most of his body with cybernetics, effectively saving his life. Grateful, he joined the team. The ninja stood at attention, sporting a black and orange coat over his cyborg body.

To Winston's left was Angela clapping for him and Torbjörn letting out a hearty laugh. Winston laughed as he remembered the events of that day, on how he gorged himself on a big peanut butter cake. His eyes drifted further left and stopped, the smile leaving his face. There was Jack Morrison, a hand on his hip as he beheld his team proudly. Behind him was Gabriel Reyes in his Blackwatch uniform, arms folded and facing away. On the far right was Captain Ana Amari. The old days. It was more than them just being heroes. They were friends. Now, so much has changed. So many dead or gone. He shook his head, preferring to dwell on the happy memories. On another screen were three other pictures. One brought a joyous smile to his face as he saw Torbjörn and Angela dressed for Halloween. He was a Viking and she a witch. Another picture was of him and Lena, with her making bunny ears with her fingers behind him. The third picture was behind it, obscured from view. Winston lifted it and felt a warmth settle in his chest. It was him as a baby gorilla, smiling at the camera next to a man. A man that was a big part of his life. His vision faded, and he stared off into space.

* * *

 _He hung from the ceiling, looking through the glasses he stole from the scientists. The little gorilla looked out the small window into the void of space, stretching over the grey rocky landscape of the moon. He peered through the glasses, amazed at just how sharper his vision was as he looked through the tiny lens. Such an object amazed the little one. The door behind him beeped, and a man in a black turtleneck and lab coat walked inside. A nametag on his chest read "Harold Winston." The gorilla hooted as he fell onto the bed, hiding the glasses behind his back._

" _I think you have something that belongs to me," he said smiling. The little gorilla whined, looking up at him pleadingly to let him keep them. "Hand them over." He held his hand out expectantly. He fidgeted in place, looking guilty. The scientist laughed. "It's okay. You're not in trouble. Oh!" The gorilla looked down at the thing he was holding in his hand. A jar of peanut butter! "I'll trade ya." With a happy hoot, he took the jar and gave him the glasses, more than accepting of this trade. "There you go, buddy." The gorilla chewed on the lid impatiently, eager to get at the delicious nectar inside the plastic jar. His attention shifted back to the window, staring into the darkness. He always wondered what was out there._

" _There's not much to see from in here, kiddo," Harold said. "But you know there's more out there, don't you?" He hugged his jar of peanut butter, smiling at the doctor. He smiled back, loving the little one's wide eyed innocence. "Come on. It's time I showed you something." He held his hand out to the gorilla who took it in his own. Harold led the little one down the hall through the corridor of red lights and high pitched alarms._

* * *

Winston felt himself frown. That wasn't part of the memory. He blinked and found himself back in the lab. He was an adult again, having lost himself in the nostalgia of the past. He was here. And Harold was…

"I'm detecting intruders," Athena declared. All the monitors in the room were flashing warnings in red, alarms twinging in his ear.

"Huh?" Winston rose from his seat, on full alert. No one was supposed to know he was here. He hadn't told anyone, even other Overwatch agents. Had he been tailed? Had the boys he hired ratted him out? Who would be interested in finding him? Couldn't be the UN. Even though he was violating many rules in being here, they'd have announced themselves first. No, he knew good and well who it was.

"Talon," he growled. So they had found him and planned to do away with him like the others. Well, he wouldn't go down so easily. "Athena, kill the lights." The entire facility went dark. Lasers shimmered in the darkness as the soldiers in black armor filled the room. The target was Winston. Eliminate, extract computer information, blow the facility. The men gripped their rifles, eyes trained on all corners of the room. For anything and everything. A plop drew their attention to the ground. On the floor sat a meager banana peel. With a mighty roar, Winston pounced onto them out of the darkness, grabbing a soldier by the leg and slinging him across the room. One raised his gun to fire but was grabbed by the head and slammed into the floor. The soldiers opened fire, pelting his armor. Winston grabbed a soldier by his gun and threw him into a metal table. The bullets stung as they grazed his flesh, trickling blood onto the white of his armor. The gorilla barrel rolled between the last two, slamming the men into each other. The soldiers were dispatched, lying on the floor, battered and bruised. Winston's nostrils flared as he got a whiff of something. The smell of smoke and decay.

A cloud of black smoke slinked out from the shadows, snaking around him and floating up the balcony above. Winston felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of it. The cloud was forming together, gaining structure. A low gravely chuckle resonated from within, and a white skull mask appeared through the smoke. His blood ran cold as he recognized who it was. The Reaper had come for him, like he did the others. Talon's presence here confirmed what Winston believed: that they were involved in the assassinations. With an enraged roar, the gorilla leapt up to the balcony with arms outstretched. But a shock ran through his body, and he fell onto the metal floor. A soldier had stuck him with a taser, a coil launched from his gun and hooked onto the gorilla's form. The fallen soldiers rose to their feet, cradling their rifles. One by one, they each stuck his limbs with their tasers. The gorilla writhed on the ground in agony as the combined electrical shocked were immensely overpowering. Reaper delighted in the sight and was eager to kill the beast. But he would savor it as long as he could. He approached of panels, recognizing them as memory banks. No doubt Athena and Winston had gathered plenty of info during their stay. From his pocket, he withdrew a cylindrical device and attached it to a panel. Red sparks shot out as it began the transfer sequence. Talon's computer program was cutting through the firewall and infecting the data stream.

"Security protocols failing!" Athena declared. "Winston, Reaper is extracting the Overwatch agent database!" The gorilla looked on in horror at the terminal, displaying a map of the world with a black box reading "DATA BREACH" in red lettering. Athena had been monitoring all active Overwatch agents since Winston reactivated her and catalogued their whereabouts. If Talon got ahold of that data, they could potentially wipe them all out in one fell swoop. His thoughts were interrupted as his body twisted in pain from the shocks. The soldiers stepped back, giving the ape a wide berth. One unlucky soldier stepped onto the discarded banana peel, falling onto his back. His gun flew through the air and across the room, disconnecting the taser from his right arm. Using his free hand, he activated the device in his suit, triggering his signature enrage mode. His flesh glowed red, and he flew into an animalistic frenzy. Two soldiers exchanged looks before one dropped his gun. The other still clutched his and was lifted up by the taser tether as Winston swung him around like a whip, smashing him into the other soldiers.

"Extraction at 32%..." Reaper craned his head as a soldier was flung through the glass window behind him, hitting the floor. He sighed irritably and popped his neck.. These common soldiers were useless when it came to Overwatch agents. His form shifted to the miasma of smoke, floating out of the room. Reaper reformed and landed on the floor behind Winston. The gorilla looked over his shoulder, his red eyes glowing with primal rage. A low chuckle escaped Reaper's throat. He drew the twin shotguns from under his coat and peppered Winston. Each shot hit like a ton of bricks, forcing the gorilla to back away. His enrage mode was fading, only usable in small bursts. Reaper lowered his shotgun, poppiing him in the knee. The ape collapsed onto his stomach, jaw impacting with the hard ground. His head was spinning from the impact, his red skin having faded to its normal coloration. The gorilla's body ached all over, sore from electrical shocks and the impact of guns. Reaper raised his gun to the ceiling, aiming at a support coil holding up one of the relics from Overwatch past. It was an escape pod from a decommissioned vessel. The bullet tore through the coil with ease, with gravity working the rest. Winston's eyes widened as the pod closed the gap between them. Blackness. A great pain. Numbness. And then silence.


	9. Recall: Part 2

_The observatory was illuminated by yellow floor lights, bathing the room in a heavenly glow. The giant telescope sat facing the shutters, closed for the night. Harold led his little ape friend past it. The baby gorilla held his friend's hand gingerly for balance as he struggled to walk on two legs. His steps were shaky, but he was getting the hang of it. He let go of Harold's hand and slinked over to the wall, looking up in wonder at the enormous metal. Harold knelt down beside him, holding his glasses. In the recent months, the little ape had been sneaking away with his glasses more and more. He had also begun staring out the window in his spare time as opposed to playing with his toys or the other apes. A medical checkup he conducted on the apes showed that this one had vision problems. Now, Harold had pieced the puzzle together._

" _You took these because you wanted to see if there was more out there." He handed the glasses to his little friend, placing them upon his face. He was rewarded with a smile. His vision was now pristine, and the edges around Harold were no longer blurry. Harold smiled at his little buddy. This time, he'd get to keep them. "Well, see for yourself." A bright streak of light pierced through the room as the blast doors slowly slid open with a mechanical whirr. The gorilla squinted and waited for the light to subside. His eyes widened with wonder as he was greeted with the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. In the black void of space before them, taking up nearly the whole window, was an enormous blue planet. Splotches of brown, green, and white rested on its surface. It was the jewel of space as far as he was concerned._

 _Earth._

" _Wow," he cooed. Harold couldn't fight the smile that crept onto his face even if he wanted to. It always brought him great joy to see a child inspired and enraptured by science._

" _Always remember. Never accept the world as it appears to be. Dare to see it for what it could be." A furry hand gingerly cupped his. The two were bathed in the soft light of Earth. A moment in time shared between just them. And those words. He would remember those words forever, as they were the only things with him besides Harold's glasses and his name when he would set out on his own._

 _Winston…_

* * *

"Winston!" The gorilla's eyes opened slowly. The world around him had no form, no shape. Only a blurry miasmic mess of color. He had blacked out. But for how long? Had he failed? Was the Reaper gone? The world sharpened into view, colors gaining borders and structure. He could feel the weight of the world returning, and feeling returning to his numb limbs. A heavy weight pushed down onto his back. The pod rested atop him. No bones were broken, but we was going to be sore in the morning. The sound of metal boot stomping on metal caught his ears. There he was. The Reaper. Approaching him. His twin shotguns clattered to the floor, and the shadowy terrorist removed two more from underneath his cloak. So he was not too late, after all. "Winston! He's going to have all agents' locations!" Winston stared down the barrels of Reaper's twin guns.

"I'll be sure to send them your regards, monkey," he growled. His heart fluttered in his chest, the anticipation for bloodshed and revenge palpable. Perhaps he could find Jack's location with Athena's data. Or draw him out of hiding by slaughtering his comrades. Either way, he could taste victory on the tip of his pale and dry tongue. Winston glared at him, baring his sharp canines at the man in black. He wouldn't get away if he could help it. Something shimmered in the light out of the corner of his eye. He looked and saw a device sitting by his hand. The shield generator. He looked back towards Reaper, an idea forming in his head.

"I'm not a monkey," he growled. His hand slammed down upon the device, causing it to glow blue. He slid it to Reaper's feet and waited it out. The shield flickered on but quickly desolved, the red FAIL signs returning. The terrorist cackled at his machine mockingly. But Winston would have the last laugh. "I'm a scientist." He cradled his head and shielded it from the blast. Reaper flew through the air and slammed into a table. Winston pried himself out from under the pod and rolled towards Reaper, determined to finish this here and now. The electricity gun was scooped up from its workbench and hummed to life in his hands. Reaper sighed dryly as he rose to his feet, collecting his guns. This was proving to be rather tiresome for him. Bolts of energy shot from the gun and ripped through Reaper's body, his limbs contorting and seizing up. His body screamed, and his form burned as Winston zapped him. The smoke began to spark and catch fire from the intense energy and resulting heat it generated. Reaper's body burned up, disappearing in a puff of smoke as it burned out. His guns clattered to the floor. Winston snorted and pounded his chest in victory. No one was hurting his friends this day.

"Extraction: 90%." Athena's voice was frizzing out, slowing and speaking at irregular tones. Winston vaulted himself up into the room above. Even with Reaper gone, the device he planted was still trying to stream the data. The device stuck out from the wall, visibly noticeable. He ripped it off the panel and crushed it in his large hand. "Fai-ling. 98%." It was too late. Talon had buried itself so deep into the data stream that removing the device wouldn't cut it. If he wanted to cut them off, he would have to do a system purge and restore. But such a thing was risky as Athena could be lost completely.

"Hang on, Athena!" Winston slid to the terminal, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he opened command prompts and typed in access codes. The gorilla hit enter, and the computers went black. A low hum could be heard which grew ever fainter. The percentage bar read 98% before the system shut down. Talon had been interrupted before the data transfer could be completed. "Athena?" No response. He pressed a button on the computer. Nothing. He tried to hard restart the CPU. Still nothing. "Athena!" A sense of dread washed over him. Was Athena gone? Wiped from the system alongside the Talon virus? Was his only companion in these trying times now gone?

A soft beeping sound drew his attention. He looked over to a smaller monitor. In the corner of the black screen was something blinking. Then the startup music came on. The monitor displayed the stylized A with "Athena" under it in white lettering.

"Virus quarantined," she said. Winston sighed with great relief and slumped back in his chair. He wiped the sweat clinging to his brow away. Two tragedies were prevented this day. "I'm running diagnostics on the core database." The rest of the computers flickered to life, logging him into the home screens. "Restoring systems." His browser was reopened, the news now covering a different subjects. The Hearthstone match being streamed live in the background on another window had ended. And the Initiate Overwatch Recall prompt was sitting before him. He stared at it for a while in deep contemplation. He had just been attacked by Talon agents looking to kill him. To kill others. Talon was still running amuck out in the world. And now a second Omnic Crisis was being waged in Russia. But the UN had rules. And the rules said Overwatch was done. Simple as that. Only things were never that simple. The UN was dragging its feet when confronted with any new global threat that came out of the woodwork, content to let the locals deal with it by themselves. That's not what they were about originally. Before, the UN would take charge and keep the global peace. Back when they had Overwatch. Now, they had fallen to the wayside, acknowledged as nothing more than a joke by every major nation on Earth.

Winston stared down at the keyboard and saw Harold's glasses. So that explains why everything was so blurry. Gently, he lifted them up in his strong hands. He had taken great care of his old friend's glasses, even years after his death. Only fair. He had taken care of him for years.

" _Never accept the world as it appears to be. Dare to see it for what it could be."_ He blinked in surprise. His voice. It still sounded as soft and comforting as the first day they met. His gaze fell to the old photo of him as a baby and Harold. Harold had an arm around him, holding him close like a son. He looked back down at the glasses solemnly. Aside from the photo, these were all that was left. The other apes on the colony. They had killed him. Harold was the gentlest and kindest person Winston had ever met. The other apes spoke of rebellion and rising up, but they killed an innocent man. A man who did no wrong. It felt wrong to hold the dead man's glasses. He felt unworthy. Were he stronger, were he older, smarter. He could've saved him. But that was not the case. An innocent man lost to senseless violence. Winston thought about him often. Of how Overwatch could've saved him. They had saved so many other people during the Omnic Crisis. Now they were gone. And people were being hurt without cause. Those in power were doing nothing. This world needed Overwatch. But bringing them back would make them all fugitives wanted by the law. They would be outcasts, vigilantes. Winston locked his jaw and sat the glasses on his face with determination. If that's what it cost to protect this world, then he'd do it. He pressed Y and confirmed his choice.

His monitor projected an orange display of the globe in front of him, location markers of all active Overwatch agents being displayed on the map.

"Establishing agent connections," Athena announced. The call to arms had been announced. They were all to gather at Watchpoint: Gibraltar ASAP. Overwatch was coming back, and this time, no one would be there to stop them-

"Winston?" He looked towards the monitor, displaying Lena Oxton's photo and "Active Call." "Is that you, love? It's been too long!" Winston strapped on his jetpack and power bracers to his suit, fully arming himself.

"Yes," he said with a laugh. "Yes, it has."

"You're recalling me?" she asked.

"All of you," Winston said proudly. "Overwatch is coming back."

"Is this legal?" she asked. The gorilla let out a chuckle.

"What do you think?"

"The UN won't be too happy about this, love."

"Well, I'm not too happy with Talon and the Omnic Crisis being waged and them not doing anything about it," he stated. "If they won't, then Overwatch will."

"Right on!" Lena said with noticeable excitement. "Time to save the world again! What brought this on?"

"I was attacked," Winston said. "Talon had found out I was here in Gibraltar. They sent the Reaper after me."

"The Reapuh? Blood 'ell, Winston! How did you survive?"

"With science!" Lena giggled.

"Are you safe?" she asked, concern in her voice. "I'm currently preoccupied with something here in King's Cross, but as soon as I can, love-"

"Don't worry," Winston said reassuringly. "If Talon comes back for more, I'll be ready. Plus, soon, I'll have a whole squad of heroes at my side. I say let them try." The two exchanged laughter and began trading stories. Of their travels, of their findings, of the fights they've endured, and of people they've met. Great joy surged through Winston as he was able to talk to another person once again. To talk to his best friend once again.

Farther inside the laboratory, a small back wisp of smoke slithered out from the shadows. It hissed in anger at its bitter defeat. It was Reaper, alive but weakened. He had to escape, to return to Talon. The wisp crackled and writhed in anger, growling lowly. The Talon soldiers that had accompanied him were lying on the ground, unconscious by the gorilla's fury. Had he eyes, he would be glaring at them. These soldiers were useless to him. But perhaps he could make use of them in another way. The wisp hovered over a soldier's body. The body began to shake and grow pale, its flesh shriveling up. It was being drained of its cells to strengthened the damaged Reaper. One by one, he drained them. Slowly. Maliciously. Each one was reduced to lifeless husks housed inside black body armor. The wisp slithered through the ventilation shaft and escaped the base, heading for the rendezvous location to inform the doctor. Reaper let out a throaty growl, irate at the notion of having failed. But a realization came over him. Winston was recalling the surviving Overwatch members. Gathering them here. A small glimmer of satisfaction ran through his smoky form.

If Winston was bringing them all to Gibraltar, then that meant Jack would be returning as well. Soon, his enemy would come out of hiding and emerge into the light. But he would snuff out that light and swallow up Jack inside his dark miasma.

Soon, he would have his revenge. Against Jack. Against all of them.


	10. Alive

The doctor sat at his desk, polishing the lenses of his glasses. A flat disinterested look sat on his face as he paid no attention to the Reaper standing at his desk. Soft raspy breaths could be heard faintly above the whirring computer.

"Reaper, you've no doubt set up back," the doctor said flatly, still not even bothering to look at him. "This was to be the death knell for Overwatch, and you've botched it. Now, they continue to exist."

"Your agents proved to be useless in the field," Reaper growled. "If they had done a better job of holding back the monkey, I-"

"Gorilla," the doctor corrected before setting his glasses back onto his face. "And what's the point of having a superpowered field agent if they can't hold their own? We didn't bring you back from the cusp of death to fail us in our time of need." Reaper clenched his fist, the fabric straining in his palm from the pressure. The doctor sighed, waving a hand dismissively at him. "The only saving grace of all this is that Winston has recalled all surviving Overwatch agents and gathered them in one spot. But we'll never have another opportunity like this again. You've failed us, Reaper. And you nearly died out there."

"I can prove I have what it takes," Reaper growled indignantly. "Send me to King's Row with-"

"No," the doctor stated. "You can barely stand as it is." Reaper was clutching his ribs with his other hand, his body not completely regenerated yet. "We've invested too much money in you. Back in the tank." Reaper glowered at the doctor from underneath his mask. Successful missions allowed him more free time out in the open, but failures would put him back in the tank indefinitely. And the last thing he wanted was to be cooped up.

"You can't do this to me-"

"I can. Because I own you." The doctor rose from his chair, palms resting on the desk. He stared the Reaper down, unintimidated by his gothic and imposing exterior. "I remade you from the cusp of death. You belong to me. Back. In. The. Tank." Reaper locked his jaw and glared daggers through the man. The indignation caused fury to well up in his chest. The doors slid open behind him, and two Talon guards armed with assault rifles approached either side of him. One reached for him arm, but Reaper snatched it away. He would not be escorted like some senior citizen. With a huff, he turned and left for the tank. Though he would have loved to tear that doctor to pieces, he was in no condition to do so. With no weapons and at half strength, he wouldn't make it out of building.

The doctor returned to his seat and tapped a button on his terminal. "Prepare the stasis tank. Agent Reaper will be undergoing medical treatment and therapy upon arrival." His gaze drifted over to the television, where a news reporter was standing in the middle of a crowd in King's Row.

* * *

The neon yellow light of Big Ben's clock shined brilliantly against the soft neon blue of the cityscape behind it. The streets were teeming with hundreds of citizens, both human and omnic as they had come to see the peace talks being held. King's Row was the old district of London, with most of the architecture retaining its classic design. Along the rooftops strode United Nations field agents, their presence obscured by the shadow of the night. As was the presence of another as she slinked across the cityscape, a trail of dead and unconscious agents following her.

The civilians down below suspected nothing, blissfully unaware that Talon had set their sights upon them. Hundreds of citizens chanted and raised signs in protest of the Second Omnic Crisis raging out in Volskaya. Amnesty between humans and omnics was on the rise once more, but things weren't as simple as they were in the age of Overwatch. The omnics were now recognized as a people and were thus protected under various civil rights acts. A different world meant that heroes could no longer just punch and shoot their way through problems anymore.

A little girl stood in attendance with her mom as she watched the area in front of them, awaiting the arrival of the Shambali representative to arrive and speak. A neon glow out of her peripheral caught her attention, and a gasp rang out as she saw its source.

"Mom! Mom, Mom!" she said, pulling on her mother's sleeve in amazement. Through the crowd maneuvered a woman wearing a yellow skintight jumpsuit and a brown aviator's jacket. Strapped to her chest was a glowing harness. She wore goggles and had wild spiky hair. The legendary Overwatch hero Tracer, known to some as Lena Oxton. She had been following the Shambali speaker as he toured throughout Britain, listening to his speeches and watching how the crowds were moved by his words. This time, things were different. This would be his last stop before he returned to the omnic monastery in Nepal. Afterwards, she would return to Watchpoint: Gibraltar and convene with Winston. His message to her after he sent out the recall troubled her. Talon had been a continuous pain in their side even after Overwatch fell, but to outright attack Gibraltar like this? It was quite a bold move. Whether it was instinct or paranoia, Tracer felt that they had something planned this evening.

The chanting turned to cheers of joy as a grey humanoid omnic with gold trim emerged from backstage to the podium. He wore a humble grey monk's robe and had a series of neon blue lights shaped like a diamond on his forehead. Tekhartha Mondatta. Cries of joy and declarations of love sounded the air. The monk bowed and waved a hand before them.

"Human. Machine. We are all one within the Iris." Though he began every speech with this statement, it never lost its touch upon the people. "Before me, I see a future. Humans and omnics standing together. United by compassion by common hopes and dreams." Tracer's eyes darted to the man in the black suit behind Mondatta, listening intently on his headset. His eyes rose to the rooftops warily, as did Tracer's in response. She slinked out of the crowd and made her way for the alleys. Up above, the UN soldiers patrolled the area at double speed.

"All units, be advised. We have possible hostile presence within the perimeter. Watch the rooftops." An agent stood, looking over the crowd. His pale face obscured by the shadow of his baseball cap. He stepped back as something whizzed past him. A metal grappling hook had embedded itself in the chimney beside him. He followed the coil leading from it only to see a fist rocket towards his face. The Widowmaker had entered the scene, ready to kill. The coil was wrapped around the agent's neck. She silenced the man with a blow to his head from the butt of her rifle. A soft satisfied smirk was present on her supple lips, blue like the rest of her form. She raised two fingers and pressed them to her visor.

"Zis is Agent Widowmaker," she said. "Respond, Doctor?"

"What's your status?" he asked in reply.

"In position. Target Mondatta in my sights. Ze United Nations agents are on alert but have not spotted me. Zey remain still unaware."

"Excellent," the doctor stated. "Take the shot and rendezvous with evac afterwards. Failure is not an option here, Widowmaker."

"Did ze Reaper fail his mission?" Widowmaker asked, unable to stop the coy smirk from rising on her face.

"Indeed. He's back in the tank. See that you don't end up the same." Widowmaker frowned. Though her feeling and expressions of emotion had been greatly suppressed by her neural therapy, she still felt disgust at the prospect of going back in the tank. Having spent years being cooped up inside that space, the prospect of returning to it made her feel slightly nauseous. She slid the grappling hook's coil around her left boot, snagging it on the firmer parts. Widowmaker allowed herself to fall over the edge, descending down the side of the building. She dangled from the side, coming to a complete standstill. The rooftop would leave her open to being spotted, but hanging from the side of the building would grant her cover and obscurity like no other. Her visor descended over her eyes, scanning the environment. She raised the rifle, transforming from its assault mode to sniper mode. Through the window of a small apartment, Mondatta could be seen. A clean shot all for her. The other lenses on her visor picked up a blue blur around her.

"Whoo!" a female voice called out. Widowmaker raised her visor and turned to see Tracer zipping along the side of the building. Her twin blasters peppered and sizzled the bricks and mortar, but Widowmaker burst through one of the windows. Tracer landed on the balcony opposite her, smirking smugly at her. No doubt in her mind was this purple woman a Talon agent.

"Trying to crash another party, love?" she asked coyly. She zipped into the open window but was kicked to the ground as Widowmaker pulled herself to the top floor with her grappling hook. She fired at the British woman, the wooden guard rails splintering under the barrage of bullets. Tracer punched a button on her gauntlet and kicked the chronal accelerator into overdrive. She zipped up the staircase after the Talon agent with great determination. Mondatta would not die this day.

"Whoa!" Tracer ducked behind the wall, pinned by Widowmaker's gunfire. With a whole rooftop between them, the Talon agent had ample space to keep the Overwatch hero at bay. The chronal accelerator blinked, recharging. Tracer couldn't zip past the constant bullets flying at her with this little space. Her mind zipped as fast as her accelerator as she tried to piece together some sort of plan. There was no way Winston could arrive in time, and all the other heroes had gone dark or had fallen out of touch. Tracer tapped on her gauntlet as fast as she could. "Mondatta's in danger! Shoot her on the roof! I repeat: shoot her on the roof!"

Back down on the ground level, the agent wearing the suit held his finger to his earpiece. That voice calling over it wasn't one of theirs.

"This is a secure channel. No one's allowed-"

"Mondatta's in danger!" Tracer said, cutting the man off. "Get him out of here!" The man's face turned grim.

"Identify yourself immediately," he growled. If this was a prank, he was going to have someone's ass. His only reply was the sound of gunfire over the comm link. His eyes widened underneath his shades. There was no doubt that this was serious. He clicked another button on his earpiece. "All rooftop teams! Check and clear! Halo is leaving! I repeat: Halo is leaving!" Mondatta was still speaking to the crowd, blissfully unaware of what was transpiring on the rooftops above. The agent approached him silently, leaning in to whisper into his audio receptor.

"Sir, there's been a breach," he said. "We need to leave now." Mondatta nodded and followed the agent as another agent emerged from the crowd to escort him. "Chariot, this is Team One. Halo is coming in hot. Over!" High above the confused crowd, Widowmaker still shot at Tracer. The agent was determined not to give her an inch of moving room.

"Widowmaker, Mondatta is leaving," the doctor stated. "What is the situation?"

"Ze situation has been compromised," she responded. "An Overwatch hero has engaged me."

"Overwatch? Here?" The doctor was quiet for a few seconds. "No matter. Mondatta cannot leave this area alive. Take him out. Failure means-"

"I will not fail!" she spat defiantly. Widowmaker turned and sprinted off the edge of the roof, leaping into the shadows beyond. Tracer leapt out from the corner, both blasters primed. UN agents on the rooftop across from her had emerged, sweeping the sector. Tracer glanced at them worriedly. No ordinary foot soldier could last against one of Talon's field agents. Whoever this woman was, she was no Reaper but definitely not something to be taken lightly. The Widowmaker swung high above the rooftop and landed onto the unsuspecting agent. His partner turned and fired at her, but she would not be deterred. With near superhuman speed, she zipped past his bullets and swept his legs out from under him. From another rooftop, a third UN agent began firing. Widowmaker smirked and sprinted along the rooftops, leaping from structure to scaffolding with pinpoint accuracy. Her parkour and navigation were leagues above any regular Talon foot soldier. Even Tracer was jealous. The UN agent darted his rifle all around but each time his bullets followed his arc, the Widowmaker had already made it to the next area. The gun clicked in his hand. Out of ammo. A shadow passed over him, and he looked above to see her pounce upon him. She spun around and shot the other man on the roof with them, his body falling limply to the ground. The man under her was shot in the chest and then had his head kicked him under her heel. The radar on her visor dinged, showing three hostiles approaching from behind. Three more UN agents were charging after her as they navigated the rooftops. Widowmaker raised her rifle and sniped the three of them with no hesitation. The men never stood a chance against her. She tapped a button on her visor and switched to infrared mode, filtering out the other figures in the crowd until she saw Mondatta. Target locked on.

"Widowmaker, you have two minutes to take out the target before his evac has arrived," the doctor said.

"Copy," she coldly replied. Another hostile was detected on her radar, approaching fast. Only one person in the field could keep up with her. With a grunt, she leapt across the rooftop and scampered from building to building, Tracer hot on her heels. She was fast, but this Overwatch hero was faster. She could not outrun her at this rate. Widowmaker pursed her lips as she found her strategy for escaping: cheat. The sniper zipped past a chimney and casually deployed a venom mine. Tracer leapt after her, her steely eyes locked onto the Talon agent. Nothing else was important besides stopping this woman from killing Mondatta. Her vision was obscured as a great cloud of purple smoke burst as if from nowhere. The venom mine deployed its hallucinogenic gas and flooded her lungs. Tracer coughed and stumbled helplessly onto the bricks below her. Her body screamed for fresh and clear oxygen, her arms like jelly as they flopped around her limply. A metal boot dug itself into her arm, pressing down upon her body. The barrel of a rifle pointed at her head. Tracer glanced up and saw the woman looking down at her with a satisfied smirk. Her golden eyes shone with contempt. "Such a sweet foolish girl." The chronal accelerator blinked on her chest, now fully recharged. Tracer's body was covered in a blue neon light as she began to zip backwards. Her body and lungs were returning to full strength.

 _Way to go, Winston_ , she cheered mentally.

"What was that?" Tracer gloated as she zipped high into the air, pelting Widowmaker with gunfire. The sniper slinked behind a chimney and returned fire. One of Tracer's bullets strayed and pieced an air conditioning unit, causing steam to waft over the area. The HUD inside her goggles blinked at the bottom, showing an icon with a hexagonal shape. "Ultimate charged!" With a triumphant shout, she chucked her pulse bomb at the woman. Widowmaker peered through the mist for her foe. Had it not been for a gust of stray wind, she would've been blown clean off the roof. The wind parted the steam and revealed the pulse bomb barreling towards her. She raised her rifle and shot the bomb, causing a large fiery cloud to rise over the rooftop. Tracer was knocked off the roof and began spiraling down towards the cold hard ground.

Down below, Mondatta's car had arrived, and the men in black were urging him into the vehicle. The omnic turned swiftly around when the sound of a boom reached his audio receptors. The crowd of people were captivated by the explosion up above. Widowmaker leapt from the rooftop, raising her rifle. Their window was closing by the millisecond, and she would not fail. She would not go back into that tank. As her rifle fully transformed, Tracer fell into place before her, blocking her shot of Mondatta. The Talon sniper pulled the trigger, leveraging each one of her odds as the bullet rocketed through the air. Either she would kill Mondatta, the hero, or both. Regardless, someone was going to die. And it would not be her.

Tracer's chronal accelerator blinked, having recharged fully. She clutched her fist and faded in a burst of blue light, zipping back to the safety of the roof. But by the time she realized the consequences of what she had just done, it was far too late. She stood on the smoky bricks of the roof and turned just in time to see the bullet shatter through Mondatta's head casing, his body falling into the limo. Screams and cries of terror rang through the crowd as they just realized why Mondatta was leaving. An assassin. And it had taken his life. The omnic's diamond flickered off forever, and the streets went wild as humans and omnics panicked in all directions. The clatter of tiles above her drew her attention.

"Looks like ze party is over." Widowmaker stood tall on the roof above, hand on her hip and rifle on her shoulder. Despair and guilt washed over Tracer as she watched the agents try and calm the panicked masses, shielding Mondatta's body.

"No, no, no, no, NO!" Tracer cried out in anguish. Her chronal accelerator flared up, and she tackled Widowmaker to the ground. They tumbled and slid to the edge, Tracer glaring and digging her fingers into her arms. "Why? Why would you do this?" She shouted at her with rage and pain. A low amused laugh in response had her blood run cold. Lights shined in Tracer's peripheral, and the sound of a humming turbine grew from silence. A large black flying vehicle rose over the rooftop.

"Adieu, chérie." Widowmaker pulled her by the collar and flipped them both over the edge. Her grappling hook shot from her wrist gauntlet and locked into the stone above. Widowmaker swung and smashed Tracer into the brick wall, causing the chronal accelerator to spark and short circuit. The sniper clenched her fist and zipped herself up, standing triumphantly over King's Row. She looked down onto the ground disdainfully, Tracer's crumpled form shaking with soft breaths on the stone. With a satisfied smirk, Widowmaker scooped up her rifle and approached the dropship. "Agent Widowmaker here. Target has been eliminated."

"Excellent!" the doctor exclaimed. "And the Overwatch agent?"

"Indisposed," she replied. "Alive but out of ze way."

"No matter. Leave her as a warning for the rest of them. The world will soon hear of her failure and humiliation. Return to base, Widowmaker. You have done excellent work." She slinked onto the dropship and took her seat. Her heart and eyes fluttered with excitement, something she had not felt in a long time. She felt so alive in this moment, a feeling of such euphoria and ecstasy. Pride in her work. And relief of being spared from the tank.


End file.
